I think this Harriet Herriott--it's like a name in a book--is an
interfering old Thing.
CAPT. G. (_Aside._) So long as you thoroughly understand that she _is_
old, I don't much care what you think. (_Aloud._) Very good, dear.
Would you like to write and tell her so? She's seven thousand miles
away.
MRS. G. I don't want to have anything to do with her, but you ought
to have told me. (_Turning to last page of letter._) And she patronises
_me_, too. _I_'ve never seen her! (_Reads._) 'I do not know how the
world stands with you; in all human probability I shall never know;
but whatever I may have said before, I pray for _her_ sake more than
for yours that all may be well. I have learnt what misery means, and
I dare not wish that any one dear to you should share my knowledge.'
CAPT. G. Good God! Can't you leave that letter alone, or, at least,
can't you refrain from reading it aloud? I've been through it once.
Put it back on the desk. Do you hear me?
MRS. G. (_Irresolutely._) I sh--shan't! (_Looks at_ G'.s _eyes._) Oh,
Pip, _please!_ I didn't mean to make you angry--'Deed, I didn't. Pip,
I'm so sorry.
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