Mrs. Tremaine.
But surely you're not going to kill a black cat? It is awfully
unlucky.
(_Miss Macfarlane keeps Mrs. Tremaine under observation._)
Denham.
Are you superstitious?
Mrs. Tremaine.
I suppose I am. Those peacock feathers made me shiver when I came
in.
Mrs. Denham.
Are peacock's feathers unlucky?
Mrs. Tremaine.
Yes; didn't you know that?
Mrs. Denham.
No.
Denham.
Constance is not superstitious. It is her worst fault. A little
superstition gives colour to life.
Mrs. Tremaine.
Do let _me_ take the cat, Constance!
Mrs. Denham.
I am sure you are welcome to the beast.
Denham.
Thanks, Mrs. Tremaine.
Mrs. Denham.
Arthur, take Mrs. Tremaine down to have some tea.
Denham.
Will you come, Mrs. Tremaine?
(_Exeunt Denham and Mrs. Tremaine._)
Miss Macfarlane.
(_retaining Mrs. Denham_) My dear, beware of that woman! (_Crosses
to Mrs. Denham._)
Mrs. Denham.
Of Blanche--why?
Miss Macfarlane.
Ye have a husband, that's all.
Mrs. Denham.
But you don't suppose--
Miss Macfarlane.
Eh, I suppose nothing. But that woman loves men. I can see it with
half an eye.
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