that position during the rest of the conversation, but always so as not to be visible to the others. Sir George rises and stands by Philip) I feel so strongly that is the right course, because in my own life I have pursued the opposite; and I have paid—nay, I have not yet paid the penalty. I claim to be no better than my kind. When I was married, I too was entangled. I was a rising man—and it was necessary that I should obtain a seat in Parliament. Lady Carlyon’s father had much influence in the county which I represent. My marriage was political. I had a charming wife, who did her best to love me, heaven knows; and I might have loved her, if this entanglement from which I could not extricate myself had not been there. But there it was, and with a woman’s quickness she discovered it. I know she did, although she never spoke; and with a generosity which I can never repay, she did not add to my embarrassment. What was the sequel? Death cut the knot which I could not unravel. I am free. Now, many a time amongst these dead dry bones (pointing to briefs) I hunger for the love it is too late to win. Still that accursed past stands like a wall betwixt my wife and me. (returns, C.) Profit by my experience. (sits, C. )

Philip. No doubt, the course you recommend would be the proper course to take, if it were possible; but in the circumstances it is quite impossible.

Sir G. Difficult, perhaps, but not impossible. Have no false delicacy in a case like this. This lady—I presume, whoever she may be, she is a lady—who is fond of you, for that is evident, but of whose friendship you are weary, must be sacrificed. I pity her, but there is no help for it.

Philip. None! but a letter is out of the question.

Sir G. Why?

Philip. How could I ask her—oh, it is impossible!

Sir G. Then, you do feel for her?

Philip. I can’t help pitying her.

Sir G. Perhaps still care for her—a little?

Philip. Sir George (rises), I give you my assurance as a gentleman, nothing has passed between us but kind words. I never loved her; and when I think of all the trouble she has brought on me—how she has banished me for months abroad—how nearly she has made me a false friend—I hate the very mention of her name!

Lady C. (who has followed his words in an agony, unable to restrain herself) Philip! (remembering herself, drops back upon the lounge, and feigns to be asleep)

Philip. (turning, L., quickly) What’s that?

Sir G. (rising and turning up the lamp, sees her upon the lounge) My wife! (going round at back of desk to lounge) She is asleep. (moving her) Bell! Isabel! (she pretends to wake, then starts up suddenly)

Lady C. Oh, how you startled me!

Sir G. Nay, how you startled us!

Lady C. How so?

Sir G. By calling out.

Lady C. Forgive me for disturbing you, but I was dreaming.

Sir G. And not a pleasant dream, apparently. Why, you are trembling all over.

Lady C. (smiling) So I am.

Sir G. And you cried out as though you were in pain.

Lady C. It was in terror. I dreamt that I was walking on the edge of a high cliff.

Sir G. Pshaw!

Lady C. Philip was with me.

Sir G. You had a safe escort.

Lady C. But the path grew so difficult, we had to separate. I followed him; when suddenly he turned and——

Sir G. And what?

Lady C. Flung me over! I shrieked out, “Philip!”—and awoke.

Sir G. That was what startled us.

Lady C. Forgive me. Mr. Graham, for having even dreamt that you could be so little chivalrous.

Sir G. You are not well, my dear. It’s time you went upstairs. I’ll ring for your maid.

Lady C. She has gone to bed. It doesn’t matter. I can go alone.

Sir G. Where is Miss Dalrymple?

Lady C. I’ll look for her.

Sir G. Stay where you are. I’ll look for her. (Exit, L. The two stand opposite each other—pause)

Lady C. Well, Philip?

Philip. Was this really a dream?

Lady C. No.

Philip. You have overheard my conversation with Sir George?

Lady C. The end of it.

Philip. And you cried out because——

Lady C. I realised the truth.

Philip. I didn’t weigh my words. Perhaps I over-stated——

Lady C. That will do. (pause) You chose a curious confidant!

Philip. I had no choice. Sir George is so acute; he guessed so much, I had to pass it off by asking him to give me his advice.

Lady C. It was a dangerous expedient. Does he suspect—who——

Philip. No.

Lady C. Though he is so acute?

Philip. Those who are gifted with long sight are often blind to what is at their feet.

Lady C. How did you come to talk on such a subject?

Philip. I had been telling him——

Lady C. Go on.

Philip. That I am going to be married.

Lady C. Oh. (quite calmly) That was your secret? (sits)

Philip. Yes. He guessed the reason why I went abroad, and putting this and that together, he divined there was a difficulty.

Lady C. What is the difficulty?

Philip. The lady to whom I am engaged is not yet of age, and those who have the care of her insist upon some proof that our acquaintanceship is at an end.

Lady C. They also know——

Philip. Not who you are!

Lady C. You make too many confidants. What proof do they require?

Philip. A monstrous proof!

Lady C. What?

Philip. Why, a letter with your signature! It is outrageous!

Lady C. Does Sir George think so?

Philip. He agrees with them.

Lady C. What does he say you ought to do?

Philip. To ask for such a letter.

Lady C. Then why don’t you?

Philip. Oh, have some pity on me!

Lady C. That is but fair: for you have pitied