It
clears the air.
Mrs. Denham.
This _is_ the Day of Judgment for me. I am weighed in the balance
and found wanting. I wish I were dead.
Miss Macfarlane.
Nonsense, dear; you're no failure. But I'll tell ye what the two of
you are--a pair of fools; that's what you are. You should have put
your foot down, my dear. _She_ was the Black Cat you ought to have
got rid of, and nipped this business in the bud. I don't know how
far it has gone. Does he want to run away with her?
Mrs. Denham.
No; he professes to have given her up.
Miss Macfarlane.
Then he's none such a fool, after all. That woman would have led him
a pretty dance!
Mrs. Denham.
He loves her--let him go to her. (_Rises and crosses_ L.
_Stopped by Miss Macfarlane._)
Miss Macfarlane.
Fiddlesticks, my dear! Don't force him into her arms. Mind you, he
has vowed to cherish you as well as to love you; and how can he do
that if you drive him away? Do ye remember one of his misquotations
from Byron:
"Man's love is from his life a thing apart,
'Tis woman's main subsistence?"
There's truth in that.
Mrs. Denham.
Men make love, like everything else, a mere _game_.
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