 Act 3 of the Benefit of the Doubt by Arthur Wing Panero. This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. The scene is the same as in the previous act, but a few articles of furniture are differently disposed about the room. There is no fire, and flowers decorate the fireplace. The windows are open, and the light is that of a fine afternoon and summer. Fraser is seated upon the setee. John Allingham appears in the garden, looks into the room, glares fiercely at Fraser, coughs significantly and walks away. When John is gone, Fraser glancing at the window, rises, and with an angry exclamation crosses the room. Mrs. Cloys and Justina enter. Mrs. Cloys is dressed as in the previous acts, but without her bonnet and mantle. Justina is in a bright morning dress. Mrs. Cloys to Fraser. She insists upon rising. She will see you in a few minutes. Thank you. She is excessively weak and shattered. You must remember that. Yes. Yes, I can never adequately express my gratitude. Mrs. Cloys sitting upon the setee. Aunt has been up with her the whole night. Not alone. Mrs. Allingham. Mrs. Allingham? Mrs. Allingham begged to be allowed to keep me company. There was a little scene between us, but the woman is, to some extent, human, I find. Oh, I've no doubt that Mrs. Allingham is ashamed of herself. I hope we are all ashamed of ourselves. In the end I was far from sorry to have her companionship. Your poor wife didn't come out of her swoon till nearly one o'clock this morning. Then Dr. Erskine went home, and Mrs. Allingham and I took our places by the bedside. To Justina. Till you arrived at breakfast time, Justina. Justina to Fraser. And I brought old Sarah, who used to maid as girl when Theo was at home. She's dancing here now. Mrs. Cloyce, pray, help me with your advice. Mrs. Cloyce, bridling. Oh. No, no, about Mr. Allingham. Ha! Of course! If we were Frenchmen we should fight a duel. Certainly, my dear Alec, and he would kill you. Perhaps that doesn't follow. It doesn't follow because it can't follow, but he would kill you and everybody would say of you, serve him right, another unsatisfactory husband disposed of, and you would be buried and my sister would be free and would go to Trouville in August in her reeds, and we should all have a splendid time generally. If I were French. Yes. Going to the window. Why aren't we French? Justina. Fraser, advancing to Mrs. Cloyce, hesitatingly, uncomfortably, lowering his voice. I can't deny that I have behaved in a very poor fashion to Theophila. Justina looking into the garden. Deny it. No. Fraser, turning to Justina. Please. To Mrs. Cloyce. But you, Mrs. Cloyce, have just admitted. To me, that open till last night, your feelings towards her were at least as unjust as my own. Ah. I hope your contrition, now that the facts are known to us, is as sincere and as deep as mine, Mr. Fraser. Oh, how miserable he looks. Who? Check Ellingham. She goes out and disappears. You're walking about angrily. There he is again. He has every right to be here. It's in curious taste. I don't see that. He feels called upon to remain here to protect his wife. He might say with equal reason. Hardly. He can take his wife away and protect her elsewhere. But I am helpless. You tell me it's a question whether Theophila ought to be moved today or not. Mrs. Cloyce referring to her watch. Dr. Erskine will decide very shortly. So for who long in heaven's name am I to endure, Mr. Ellingham? The fellow puts himself in my way. If I walk in the garden, he appears indoors at a window and coughs in a menacing fashion. When I enter the hoose, the proceedings are but slightly varied. I am inside, Ellingham and his cough, outside. I find him a simple-minded boyish young man. Fraser looking through the balustrade into the library. Do you? After all, the conspiracy he assisted at, for which I can never forgive him, was carried out on his part in perfect good faith to Theophila. Has sharing it is singularly discreditable? Mrs. Cloyce rising. You and I must remember that it is through this discreditable act that we are able to do justice to your wife. Justina re-enters at the window. Is Mr. Ellingham there? Yes, Aunt. Mrs. Cloyce to Fraser. I assume you are anxious to avoid any open quarrel with Mr. Ellingham. I simply wish to get my sick wife away as speedily and as peacefully as possible, and then to forget this gentleman and his cough. Mrs. Cloyce goes out at the window and disappears. Justina, surely you, you, resend this new attitude of Mrs. Ellingham's. About once in months she is your sister's bitter, determined enemy. Then, suddenly, she is allowed to sit up all night nursing her. You wouldn't crutch the woman a little bit of practical repentance. If ever I go in for repentance, let nobody try to do me out of it. Fraser impatiently. Repentance. Justina sitting on the arm of the chair. Oh, Olive Ellingham didn't have too gay a time of it last night. Take my word for it. When Theo came to, Aunt tells me her poor, overwrought brain wandered for an hour, so that wasn't over-pleasant for Mrs. A. Theo went through the whole business from beginning to end, checking off occasionally to say her prayers, praying that the case might end in her favour, and that the season's invitations would flow in as usual. Sometimes she'd stop in the middle of it and call out that she couldn't pray well, while that creature was in the next room listening. Luckily she fell into a heavy sleep at about half past two, and didn't wake till just as I turned up in response to Aunt's telegram. But what a bad hour, too, it must have been for Mrs. A pictured. The half-darkened room, my little sister tossing about the bed, raving, Aunt sitting grimly on one side with a handkerchief around her head, and on the other side hidden behind the bed curtains, hardly daring to breathe, that woman with her white face and her eyes almost out of the sockets. Sir Fletcher enters carrying some slips of paper covered with writing. Allingham has had really a most admirable cold luncheon laid in the dining room. To Fraser. You haven't seen the dining room? No. Really a capital lunch. Evidently it is intended that one should wander in and eat a wing of a chicken when one feels inclined. You have been wondering, Uncle, apparently. A glass of sherry, merely. No, it is strange and unreasonable that it should be so. But it is so. What is so? Why, one has rather a feeling of constraint in sitting down to Allingham's table. At any rate, until matters are in a more settled state. To Fraser. You wouldn't care to, to make the plunge? Plunge? To break the ice? Eat his lunch. Sir Fletcher Portwood's sitting on the setee and arranging his papers. No, no, I can quite understand. Justina throwing her head back. Ha! Fraser, to her angrily. I believe you would grin but the side of a grieve. Justina shrugging her shoulders. Sir Fletcher Portwood. Fraser turning away in disgust. Ah! Justina jumping up. Ah! I've had my bad days lately. Plenty of them. This morning the atmosphere's a bit clear. Tra-la-la-la-la. The woman who can laugh under such circumstances. Justina turning upon him. Love. My dear Ehrlich, if you had learnt to laugh in your quiet, your other accomplishments would have been much better. Justina turning away in disgust. Ah! Justina jumping up. Ah! I've had my bad days lately. Plenty of them. This morning the atmosphere's a bit clear. Tra-la-la-la-la. The woman who can laugh under such circumstances. Justina turning upon him. Love. Sir Fletcher Portwood. Rising. My dear Lorkeen. A lady deliberately stations herself in that room with a cognizance and approval of her husband to listen to— I wish to forget all that occurred last night. It is done with. Pardon me. It cannot be done with. It ought not to be done with, without the most complete apology. I will not, for reason you will presently appreciate, hint from which side. Going to Fraser, buttonholing him. Do you know what has suggested itself to me, Fraser? Fraser releasing himself. No. Why, sir, if ever there was a matter for reference, for arbitration, this is one. Fraser between his teeth. Ad-bit-tration. Good heavens, when I open my times in the morning and glance at the law reports, how often have I occasion to remark that scandal might have been averted, and that, and that, if only the intervention of some cool, level-headed person had been secured, the intervention of someone possessing the rarest of all gifts, the judicial faculty. The gift is rare enough upon the bench. Those shrink from having their concerns, adjudicated by a meddlesome amateur. I sent Claude to town for his mother at ten o'clock this morning. When they arrive, the family will be complete, with the exception of my brother, Thomas Osborne Portwood, who is in Australia, a deplorable case. Looking about him. Arbitration dispenses with legal paraphernalia. A table? Writing materials? A few chairs arranged. His eye falling upon a table. A table? He moves the table and stands disposing by gesture of an imaginary audience. Seated here, I should command the room. Pushing the satire a little further towards the left. This thing must be differently placed. Chairs there, and there. To Fraser. Look in, would this be the better room, I wonder, or the library? Fraser, who has lapsed into thought, rousing himself. Eh! For what? For the arbitration. Fraser impatiently starts to his feet as Mrs. Cloyce enters at the window with John. Oh! Mr. Alvingham, if you will give me just a moment or two. Mrs. Cloyce taking Sir Fletcher's arm and drawing him aside. Not now, Fletcher. Harriet! Sir Fletcher and Mrs. Cloyce stand outside the window, talking. John comes and faces Fraser, John with an effort. I'm sorry to hear, Mr. Fraser, that you have been annoyed while visitor at my house by the persistency of my cough. If I could have assured myself, Mr. Alingham, that your cough was a genuine one, it would not. However, violent and grave its attacks have occasioned me the smileest concern. I admit the cough was not genuine. I employed it as a sign that I was at hand, should you wish to have an explanation with me. The invitation might have been more explicitly phrased. It was clear enough for most men, at any rate. I hope the invitation is sufficiently plain now. Quite. Do you decline it or accept it? If I hesitate, it is only because I hardly know in what language you would choose for me to reply. Language? Words? Or a cough? Whichever you find most procrastinating and evasive. I decline your invitation, Mr. Alingham. I have nothing to say to you. John with clenched hands. Nothing. Nothing. John glances at Mrs. Cloyce, then advances closely to Fraser and speaks to him in a low voice, beside himself with anger, but betraying nothing by gesture. Fraser, you are actually responsible for the occurrences of last night. You've never understood your unfortunate wife, but yesterday your behavior to her was cruel, brutal. I charge you of acting towards her like a brute. Fraser looking at him immovably. Well? Well? I repeat. I have nothing to say to you, Mr. Alingham. After a pause, John retreats from Fraser and sits upon the settee, leaning his head upon his hands and uttering a groan. Fraser, I promise Mrs. Cloyce, out in the garden just now, that I would make an attempt to soften matters between us, and offer you some civility and so on. I began fairly well. Fraser bows. Then the conversation took another line. However, rising, speaking with an effort, not looking at Fraser, let me say that my house is quite at Mrs. Fraser's disposal, with a gulp, and at yours, for as long as she honors me, as you both honor me, by remaining here. Fraser again bows. John glares at him. As for ourselves, whenever we encounter each other, I will be careful to look in an opposite direction. Perhaps you will be good enough to follow the same course. It is one that would have suggested itself to me. Justina enters. Ehrlich, Theo is coming in to see you. John goes out quickly. Justina speaks to Mrs. Cloyce. Mrs. Cloyce entering the room and addressing Fraser. See you is ready. Mrs. Cloyce goes out as Sir Fletcher enters the room. Justina to him significantly. Now, perhaps a little lunch, Uncle Fletcher. She goes out by the dining-room door. Sir Fletcher portwood to Fraser. Of course, my sister Harriet throws cold water upon my proposal. Proposer. Arbitration. Fraser walks away and eyes the upper door anxiously and expectantly. But when did Harriet fail to throw cold water? I shall sound Allingham and get his views. After all, Harriet is not essential. Harriet is not. While speaking he goes to the table, takes up the ink-stand and blotting-book and carries them to the other table. Fraser to Sir Fletcher. Sir Fletcher. The Ophila understands that she is to see me here alone. Sir Fletcher portwood abstractedly. I am off. I am off. Stopping at the door looking at the table and slowly tapping his forehead. Hands. Paper. Two peas. He goes out. Fraser comes to the dining-room door and carefully draws the portier. Then he walks away as Mrs. Cloyce enters by the upper door with the Ophila leaning upon her arm. The Ophila is dressed as in the preceding acts, but without bonnet or cape. Mrs. Cloyce places the Ophila upon the setee, then goes out at the window and disappears. Fraser takes up a chair and sits. You. You are very ill, the Ophila. The Ophila in a low-level weary voice. Her eyes turned from him. No. I have just escaped being ill, they say. I have been out all night, taking steps to find you. The Ophila's telegram did not reach me till late this morning. I hurried here, directly. The Ophila indifferently, her thoughts elsewhere. Oh. I hope they told you so. Yes. I think they did. Rousing herself slightly. When did you receive the news that I—I— That you had? Run away. Justina came to Lenox Gardens last night at about half past six. It hadn't struck you as at all likely. No. Men don't think on some points, I suppose. They hit. They never expect to see a bruise. The two days we passed in court, the Ophila, set me quite beside myself. I am here to express my deep, my unfeigned regret for my treatment of you. I—I humbly beg your pardon. The Ophila looked at him for the first time in an expressionless way. You know what happened last night. Frazier with an assumed indifference. Mrs. Cloise told me. With a wave of the hand. Oh, yes. I asked her to tell you all. She has told you all. Frazier nodding agitatedly. For God's sake, let us never again refer to the subject. I will forget my share of yesterday, and I will forget yours. Moving his chair to the head of the settee to be nearer to her. The Ophila. Everything you plan that we should do to reinstate you shall be done. I am prepared to go in with your schemes. Heart and soul, all your suggestions shall be acted upon promptly. The Ophila moving away from him, then after a brief pause. No, thank you, Alec. Frazier staring at her. No? I'd rather not, now. Why no? Things are different. In what way? I feel very different. When I asked you yesterday afternoon to lend me a helping hand, I was asking for my right. It's true that we haven't got on well together. You've been in one place, I in another, for more than half our married life. It's true. I've been miserable and lonely, and I've told my tale often enough to him, Mr. Allingham. Frazier, between his teeth. Yes, yes. But throughout everything, I've never been disloyal to you. I've always been fair to you with speaking of you behind your back. Though I've hated you sometimes, I wouldn't have let a living soul say a word against you in my presence. This is truth. Oh, I know we've been violently brought up. Tina and I are vulgar and slangy in generally bad form, and we are once what's called fast, I suppose. But our fastness didn't amount to much. There was only flirting and giggling and dodging mother, and getting lost in conservatories and gardens. Oh, what fools girls are. You know, till yesterday I've been only silly, silly, nothing but silly. Till last night. Till last night. After rising and pacing the room. You were no more yourself last night than I was myself yesterday afternoon. The awfula sitting upright. Who says I was not myself? It was myself, the dregs of myself, that came to the top last night. Though the circumstances, under which you, you behaved as you dared. The awfula hiding her face in the pills. Oh, don't remind me of it. I mean, you were weak. Hell. You mean nothing of the sort. Oh, how horrid I must have looked. They were mere words you were speaking. It was me. Me. Surely if I see no reason why you should not claim my help. I see a reason. That's enough. I repeat, what I asked of you yesterday was my right. My right. But today, today it would be accepting a favour from you. Favour? Favour. A poor, tawdry little thing I've always been. But I've been proud. Yes, very proud, like every woman who is square and honest. But now. Now, if I could pull myself up again, I'd do it from mother's sake and to Tina's. But never, never, never after last night could I accept a favour from my husband. I hear from your aunt that Mrs. Allingham, this man Allingham's wife, generously offers to take you under her wing. Is it so? The awful lady back, her eyes closed. Aunt brought me a message to that effect from Mrs. Allingham this morning. What answer did you send? None. I'm going to see Mrs. Allingham. I think I understand. Understand. This lady's proposal is, after all, one worth considering. It would be a double triumph for you to ride back into the shabby little circle. You regard as society in her coach. It would be a triumph over me in the first place, over me. The awful open her eyes is beaking calmly in a subdued voice. Alling. Glancing over her shoulder. Is Aunt out there? He goes to the window and looks out. Yes. Cooler, please. He disappears. She rises feebly and with an effort pushes away the chair Frazier has placed at the end of the setee. Then she sinks into it. Mrs. Cloyce enters at the window with Frazier and comes to Theophila. My dear. Will you ask Mrs. Allingham to be good enough to come to me? You are equal to seeing her? Yes, at once. Why are you sitting here? Oh, I'm not going to appear quite a wreck before Mrs. Allingham. Find her aunt. Mrs. Cloyce goes out. Frazier brings a footstool through Theophila and places it under her feet. She nods in acknowledgement. You must not forget to thank Mrs. Allingham for taking her place by your bedside all last night. Oh, it was shameful of Aunt to have allowed that. She hid herself behind the curtains and peeped at me. She saw how ugly I was. I'll never forgive Aunt for permitting it. Oh, Frazier glancing at the door. She walks away as Olive enters, followed by Mrs. Cloyce. Olive is dressed as in the previous act. Upon encountering Frazier she slightly inclines her head to him, with eyes averted. He bows stiffly. He then comes and stands before Theophila. Olive to Theophila. I—I hope you are better, Mrs. Frazier. Thank you, yes. Turning her head. Don't go yet, Aunt, nor you, Alec. To Olive. Mrs. Allingham, my husband, comes to me today, asking me to go back home with him. In order that, after all, we may commence together to fight the shabby little circle to which I have, I dare say, attached a great deal too much importance. Well, I've declined to go back. Declined. But Mr. Frazier has an idea that I'm treating him spitefully, because I found a powerful friend in you. Mrs. Frazier, I—I too beg of you not to act hastily and without good advice. Of course you are angry, justifiably angry. Oh! But pray take time to reflect. Oh, I entreat you to try. In a little while, when you feel less bitter, to try to see your way clear to—to—to do what? To accept both Mr. Frazier's help and mine. The awful apartment rises as if about to make some indignant response, but restrains herself. I—I can only make the same reply to you, Mrs. Allingham, as I have just made to my husband. Thank you, no. You cannot write yourself in the eyes of people without Mr. Frazier's assistance or mine, and especially mine. You couldn't accomplish it thoroughly with his help alone. It would be impossible. Very well, then. It's impossible. Olive to Frazier. Mr. Frazier. Frazier advances a few steps. Perhaps, by and by, you will add your persuasions to mine that your wife will accept me as your ally. Frazier stiffly. Mrs. Allingham. I regret it. I regret that what you suggest is, so far as I am concerned, quite out of the question. Mrs. Cloy's. Frazier retires as Mrs. Cloy's approaches. I am sure you can understand the value of the services I am able to render your niece. Oh, perfectly. Then you will try to induce her. Ah, you must excuse me, Mrs. Allingham. You will not. I may tell you that I anticipated her rejection of your proposal. Directly you communicated it to me. Indeed. And I must say— Looking at Theophila— That I fully sympathize with the— Ah, the feelings of— Of Mrs. Frazier. Of Mrs. Frazier. Quaifle enters and advances a few steps towards Mrs. Cloy's, who speaks to him quickly. Has— She breaks off looking at him significantly. Yes, ma'am. Mrs. Cloy's to Frazier. Mr. Frazier, may I trouble you to follow me? I have something to say to you. Quaifle withdraws to Theophila. I must run away for a few moments. Shall I send Justina to you? Oh, quickly. Oh, Mrs. Frazier, let me speak a few words to you while no one is present. Certainly. Mrs. Cloy's passes her hand over Theophila's head caressingly, then hurries to the door. Mr. Frazier. She goes out, Frazier accompanying her. Olive looks round the room, then sits slowly and deliberately upon the setee. Olive, after a little pause. Forgive me. Forgive you. Oh, do make the effort. I can't understand your asking for my forgiveness, wanting it. Endeavour to understand me. I don't remember that it ever struck me when you and I were friends, that your disposition was a jealous one. No? It isn't, is it? I couldn't go to the lengths you've gone from jealousy, if you mean that. Olive, sadly. Ah. Oh, don't you think that enough has been done in the name of jealousy? For months and months it has made a hell of my life your jealousy. People have seen me walking about, looking merry. But what sort of days and nights does a woman really spend with the divorce court looming before her? Allingham versus Allingham, Frazier intervening. That's the air you've kept me dancing to sins. Goodness knows when the music first struck up. And now I'm to forgive you, offhand, because you happen to have a jealous disposition. Olive, alteringly. You were sustained all the time by the knowledge that you were an innocent, persecuted woman. Much good did my innocence do me yesterday when they gave me the benefit of the doubt and sent me out of the court ruined. It does you this much good that now I am satisfied as to your innocence. I am prepared to serve you humbly and faithfully. Oh, Mrs. Frazier, I would be a true friend to you this time. Rising and standing before Theophila. Come, forgive me. Well, for the months of awful trouble you gave me, and for those two days in a divorce court. Yes, you're welcome to my forgiveness for all that. Her voice hardening, her hands clenched. But not for last night. You mustn't make me wholly responsible for what took place last night. I do hold you responsible. What, if told me the story? I know that, when my note to your husband was handed to him, he wanted to send a message to me excusing himself from meeting me. Did you let the message go? There was I waiting out in the lane, my people in this room, all in a fidget to hurry to me and to take me away. Did you let him come to me? No, you huddled him out of the way, and then threw your husband into your plot and trapped me in here. I was the poor rat, half dead, who had been well worried, but who'd a little life still left. So you had me in, panting, and got another few minutes' sport out of me. I'll leave her hands to her brows. Oh, don't, don't! Mrs. Fraser, at any rate, it was through last night that you cleared yourself. The awful rising and speaking fiercely. Cleared myself? Yes, and at pretty price you were the cause of my paying for clearing myself. Do you think I'd have willingly cleared myself at that cost? Ah, no decent woman could afford it. Cleared myself. You were mad when you... you were mad. You know better. I was sane enough. But mad or sane or whatever I was, I shall never think the same of myself again, never feel quite the same again. And today I'm to forgive you for it. No, if you came to me and told me that you'd just saved a life as someone dear to me, I couldn't forgive you for last night. I couldn't. No woman could. Olive walks away and stands looking out into the garden. Olive, after a pause, speaking in a hard voice. Excuse me for saying so, Mrs. Fraser. But I think you regard your share in the affair of last night more as a schoolgirl would regard it than as a woman. But rather sentimentally, in fact. Thank God I'm able to do that. Sentimentally? Well, ninety-nine women out of a hundred are kept fresh and sweet by nothing better than mere sentiment. Sitting upon the setee a little faintly. Where's Tina? Olive turns and comes to her. She is wiping the tears from her eyes. You know, if you wish to have your revenge on me, you have it. Revenge? Why? Olive turning from Theophila, for a hand plain with the arm of the chair. The services I thought you would allow me to render you are the only means by which I could hope to get my husband to overlook my behaviour of last night. He won't speak to me today. I'm sorry. After what has happened, my one hold on him is through the reparation I could make you. And now, you. Throwing herself into the chair, crying. Oh, it's like begging to you. Notwithstanding, all you've done, you're anxious to make it up with your husband, aren't you? Olive, in a whisper. You needn't ask. You've heard all about it. Do you think that, with your nature, you could ever be happy with him and make him happy? I... I don't think of that. Well, I can't say anything more then. I'm sorry. Olive rises and with faltering steps comes to her. Excuse me being so persistent. Piteously. You won't accept my help. The awful and leaning back with closed eyes shakes her head. You won't even try? It would be of no use. I couldn't. Olive drawing a long breath, her arms falling by her side. I'm tired. Tell my sister. Olive goes to the upper door, opens it and looks out. Oh, Quaif, where's Miss Emptage? Quaif, out of sight. In the dining room, ma'am. Shall I? Olive, closing the door. No, thank you. She goes to the dining room door and opens it slightly without withdrawing the portier. Miss Emptage? Justina from the dining room. Here. Your sister wishes to return to her room. Olive walks away and stands outside the window as Justina enters and goes to Theophila. Justina raising Theophila. Where's Aunt? Where have they left you alone? I asked them to. Justina lowering her voice. Ah, yes. Tell me. Bye and bye. Take me away. Olive disappears. Justina walking with Theophila towards the upper door. Oh, we've had such a time in here, and the Fletcher's been boring our heads off on the subject of the blessings of arbitration. And last, Jack, who is in a wild temper, almost jumped down his throat. They go out whereupon John is seen to slightly push aside the portier and peep into the room. Satisfied that the room is empty, he enters quickly, closes the door behind him emphatically, and throws himself on the setee with a groan of weariness. Olive returns. She is about to pass the window, but seeing John, she enters quietly, takes a chair, and sits. They remain looking at each other for a little while without speaking. Good morning, John. Well, afternoon. Have you lunched? No. John looking towards the dining room door. It's in there. Thanks. I'm sorry I can't offer to wait on you. Oh, pray don't. But Portwood is still eating. I've been rude to him. Indeed. John rising and walking about. I believe all these people drive me crazy. I don't know where to get to for them. You are in your own house. Need you seek to avoid any of them? Well, I'm not particularly desirous, for instance, so another encounter with Mr. Fraser. Another? Have you? Yes. I've been rude to him. Oh, Mrs. Cloyce? She treats me as a school mistress who treats a very small boy in disgrace. Miss Emptidge? Lectures me and patronizes me till my blood curdles. Just now I was almost, well, I hope not. Rude to her? Yes. And then this maddening old man. I can't endure it. Even my servants. Servants? A minute or two ago I was trying to escape from the dining room by passing through the kitchen. And I came upon my cook and Mrs. Fraser's maid discussing me over a bowl of chicken broth. Mrs. Quafe, my cook. I heard her distinctly. I never thought Mr. Allingham was that sort of a gentleman, she said. What sort of a gentleman? I don't know. I got away. I think I should have been rude to her. There are two more relatives of Mrs. Fraser's to arrive yet. Throwing himself into a chair. The boy has gone down to fetch the mother. The mother! I'll have rising and walking towards the door. At any rate, I can rid you of one unwelcome guest. He looks up at her. I am going, John, directly. Going home? Going back to my flat. John, rising. Now there's no longer any necessity for me to stick in this wretched cottage. I'm sorry to have been the cause. Of course. I could not leave you here among your... your... enemies. Well, hardly friends. Then Mrs. Fraser is well enough to travel? I don't know, I'm sure. You've relinquished your intention of devoting yourself to her? No, I haven't relinquished it. Mrs. Fraser will have nothing to do with me. She has said so? Although sitting upon the settee. Oh, yes, she has said so. What reason does she give? She will not receive help from the woman who... who brought that humiliation on her last night. I believe if she was starving she wouldn't take a crust from my hand. She returns to her husband, I suppose. I think not. She is in the mood to accept nothing from anybody. John sitting with his head bowed. Wounded. Wounded. I'll live with a slight shrug of the shoulders. She's a sentimental romantic little person, I find. Well... We didn't calculate for this when we arranged our ingenious little plan last night. We were to restore Mrs. Fraser's name and position to her untarnished. We were to set poor little Humpty Dumpty up again by... When was it? Goodwood Week? All in return for your ten minutes' fun in there. You were damn generous, you and I. Only we reckoned without Mrs. Fraser. Starting up. And so you see, after all, we've had our fun and enjoyed it. And yet pay nothing for it. But, at the same time, we mustn't forget that in this world everything has to be paid for by somebody. By Jove there's no doubt as to who stands treat for last night. Mrs. Fraser pays. That poor little broken-down woman pays. She pays. I'll live rising. You blame me beyond all reason. I'll not put up with it. Why didn't you call her aunt into the room last night when you saw Mrs. Fraser becoming wilder and wilder? Walking away. Pa, you appeared moon-struck, moon-struck. I thought I might save her from meeting her people while she was so unlike herself. You know I was helpless. She approaches. He seizes her by the shoulders. You. You reproach me. Why didn't you strike that bell sooner? Why didn't you strike it sooner? Leaving her and throwing himself into a chair. You weren't capable even of that. I'll live tearfully rubbing her shoulders. Oh, John. I beg your pardon. I'll live going to him slowly, leaning against the ballastrade. John. Well? I will confess it to you. I didn't strike the bell at all. You did not? I was under the impression I had stopped the clock before I sat down to listen, but in my agitation I must have shaken it and started it again. Mealy beside John's chair. The clock struck of its own accord. And you sat there, drinking in every word, when the poor creature had cleared herself and satisfied you. Still you made no effort. Rising. Olive sees in his coat. John, I couldn't move from that curtain. I was a wretch, pity me. I couldn't stir. John walks away. She rises from the ground and sits. Oh, get me a carriage of some sort to take me to the station. John going towards the bell. I'll tell Quafe. Pausing, looking at her. I don't know. I can't imagine. How you were going to get through your life. Oh, please. I've been lectured by Mrs. Fraser. Oh, there are heaps of solitary women in the world. Some people envy them. He sits upon the setee. Now that, now that the chances of our coming together again have fallen through, I shall be off out of London at once. Where can one go to at this time of the year? John, abstractedly. Eh, eh. It's a bit early for most places. I'm going to X in August. John, looking up. You are. Oh, why did you think of? Yes, but it doesn't matter. Oh, I don't want to interfere with your... Axe is a pretty big place. Where will you stay? I've been told the Splendid. Oh. What? I can easily put up elsewhere. You needn't. I dare say the Splendid is quite large enough for two people who... who... Who want to keep far apart. Rising and going towards the door, pausing by the head of the setee. How ridiculous that reconciliation of ours last night. Why, how many weeks should we have been together? John, his head resting upon his hands. Not many. Not many, I'm afraid. Weeks, days I should have said, or hours. Heaven have mercy upon us, we're reconciled. Do you remember last night? Yes. Heaven have mercy upon us? Heaven have mercy on us. Olive, wiping the tears from her eyes. I'll... I'll go and put my bonnet on. He rises and she holds out her hand. Goodbye, John. John, taking her hand, looking away. Goodbye. Olive, suddenly drawing back. Oh. What? Olive, breathlessly. Oh, yes. Olive? Ah, you'll find plenty of pretty women at X. Quaith enters, showing in Mrs. Emptage and Claude. Quaith retires. Mrs. Emptage is in a bright and fashionable morning dress. Mrs. Emptage to Olive. Mrs. Allingham. To Claude. Claude, keep by me. My legs are all of a tremble. Where is my daughter, Mrs. Fraser? Take me to her. I am very ill indeed. My fancy, this affair has affected my heart. Pray, sit down for a moment. Mrs. Emptage is sitting down. We used to be friends, Mr. Allingham. Great friends. Now I wonder you can look at me in the face. Pente. I have heard everything from Claude. I am ashamed. I must say it. I am ashamed of you and your wife. Olive makes a movement as if to go. John detains her. John to Olive. No. No. I don't think we'll run away and hide any more. Turning to Mrs. Emptage. But I hope that Mrs. Emptage will be kind enough to apply to me alone any harsh expression she may care to make use of. Sir Fletcher enters. Sir Fletcher Portwood advancing. Ah, Muriel. Mrs. Emptage rising, throwing her arms round Sir Fletcher's neck. Oh, Fletcher! Fletcher! I hardly closed my eyes all night. May I ask what has gone on during my absence? During your absence? It's Alec here. Yes. The family gathering is complete. Does Theo return to Lenox Gardens? Has an arrangement of any sort been come to? None that I know of. I seem to be powerless. Mrs. Cloys and Fraser enter. Claude meeting them. Hello, Aunt. Hello, Fraser. Mrs. Emptage totters to Mrs. Cloys. Claude retires. John walks away to the fireplace. Olive is now seated upon the setee. Mrs. Emptage embracing Mrs. Cloys. Oh, Harriet. I'm very poorly. I don't think I have had two hours rest all night. Go into Fraser and kiss him. Alec, you will prove a generous good fellow. Of that, I am sure. Poor Theo has behaved very indiscreetly. I really believe my heart has been upset by it all. I have something important to say, Muriel. Pray sit down and be quiet. I know, I know. Unless I can be kept quiet, it will be very serious for me. In her agitation she is about to sit upon the setee beside Olive. Oh, dear! What am I doing? Moving away, she stops pointing to the library. Great heavens! Was that the room? Shhh! Mrs. Emptage sits again. Fraser goes to the window and stands there, apart. His back turned to those in the room. What I have to say concerns the future of Theo Fila. There is a movement on the part of John and Olive. Please let nobody go. All who are here are interested in the future of Mrs. Fraser. Looking at Olive. And I believe sympathetically interested. Sitting. In fact, I want it to be known that a very happy arrangement has been arrived at. Mrs. Emptage to Sir Fletcher. Fletcher! You said no arrangement had been arrived at. I have not been consulted, Harriet. I did not consider it necessary, Fletcher. There was a question whether the plan I had in view could be carried out. Then you, you have constituted yourself a sort of arbitrator? As you say, a sort of arbitrarix, I suppose. The cloak of pedantry, Harriet, scarcely conceals your want of respect for your brother. I see Mrs. Cloy's as if about to quit the room. Mrs. Cloy's touching his arm. We'll all keep our tempest, Fletcher. He remains. Yes, the sort came to me during the night. A long, anxious night. Ah, indeed. The sort that I would telegraph to the bishop the very first thing this morning. The bishop? Asking him to come to me at once. Will he do so? The bishop is goodness and compliance personified. He left St. Alford's at ten o'clock this morning. He is here. Here? I shall be ashamed to meet him. After my sleepless night, my face is so dreadfully lined. The bishop does not notice the lines in women's faces. Directly he arrived, I submitted my scheme. In two words, he approved, it will be carried into execution. I do not ask what scheme. Theophila returns to St. Alford's at once with us. She will rest there two or three days, by which time I shall have found a suitable house in town. In town? The bishop and I have not had a house in town for some years. Mr. Fraser kindly sees house agents this afternoon. I would willingly have seen house agents, Harriet. Our furnished house. Mrs. Coy is ascending. For the season, sufficiently large for the dear bishop, myself, and Theophila. Both in London and at St. Alford's, Theophila will be my close companion. In our little London gaities she will figure prominently. At certain formal gatherings she will share the responsibilities of the hostess. If any paragraph concerning our doings should creep into the newspaper, it will concern the bishop of St. Alford's, Mrs. Cloy's, and Mrs. Fraser of Loughine. Oh, I don't think there will be many to wag evil tongues against Mrs. Fraser a few months hence. Olive rises and advances to Mrs. Cloy's, who stands as she approaches. Olive, in a low voice to Mrs. Cloy's. I'm glad. I'm very glad. That's right. But sure, your schemo is just a little to my idea, doesn't it? I admit it. Mrs. Allingham, I am sure you don't grudge. No, indeed I don't. I hope you will succeed to the utmost. She turns away and goes out by the dining-room door. Mrs. Emptage rising fretfully. It seems to me everything is taken out at once hands. In a most unceremonious way. Mrs. Emptage rising at Fraser, who is now out in the garden. What about Alling? Mr. Fraser? Of course. Any policy that doesn't tend to bring my niece and her husband together. Ah! I haven't told you. Mr. Fraser is to be a frequent, a fairly frequent visitor in London and at St. Allford's. Sir Fletcher with a sniff. A visitor? And it is further arranged that, in a year's time, Mr. Fraser comes to us and formally asks Theophila to return to Lenox Gardens. And when he does? Then we shall see what we shall see. Sir Fletcher walking away. I can't quite explain my feeling, but I am not sanguine. Not at all sanguine. At any rate, in less than twelve months, if I know my girl, she will have grown heartily sick of her solemn surroundings. How dare you! How? Checking herself. Well, suppose she does weary of me. Good will result even from that, if it sends her back to her husband. The door opens and the Bishop of St. Allford's enters with Theophila upon his arm. Justina follows them carrying a shawl. The Bishop is a mild-looking, very old man. Theophila is dressed in her cape and bonnet, and her face is hidden under her thick veil. Theophila coming to Mrs. Emptage and kissing her. Mother. Mrs. Emptage kisses her hastily, and bustles over to the Bishop. Oh, Bishop, I can hardly hope you'll recollect me. Bishop vaguely. Yes, yes, yes. Mrs. Emptage with a simple. Murial, you know. Bishop taking her hand. Mrs. Emptage. Don't tell me. I know I'm altered. Oh, yes, pass-avers. It isn't that. But I had no sleep last night. So fight your advances and grasp the Bishop's hand. I remember years ago, at the opening of the People's Library at Stockwell, describing Dr. Cloyce as one of the stoutest pillars of our church. Bishop uneasily. The People's Library at... Stockwell. Today I have only to add. May that pillar never grow faint nor weary. May its back remain equal to the burden imposed upon it. May it continue to plow the stormy seas of skepticism and agnosticism. Bishop helplessly. Oh, who is it? My brother, Fletcher. Oh, how do you do? Quaif appears. Is the fly here? Yes, ma'am. Quaif withdraws. The Bishop moves towards the window, so Fletcher closely following him. The Ophela to Mrs. Emptage. Goodbye, Mother, dear. Mrs. Emptage embracing her. Goodbye, my darling. I won't reproach you. If you make a bed, you must lie on it. You've nearly broken my heart, but I'm only your mother. Oh, don't. Mind you see that we visit you constantly in London and St. Orphitz. Yes, yes. As she is walking away, she sees John, who has been standing silently behind the settee. His back turned to those in the room, and she says to the others... One moment. She comes down looking at John. Mr. Ellingham. He approaches her slowly. After a pause she says in a low voice. Oh, Jack, how could you? He bows his head, making no reply. Well, for old land sign. She holds out her hand. He takes it, but releases it quickly. She turns to go, then pauses. Where's your wife? He looks towards the dining-room door. She hesitates for a moment, then goes out quickly by that door. Mrs. Cloy's looking round. See you, Fila. See you, Fila. John, watching the door. She'll be here in a moment. She's with my wife. Sir Fletcher Portwood, his voice francy. My dear Bishop, it is my view of life, and the observation has some theological bearing, that the devil almost invariably appears to woman in the form of impulse. In saying this, I am perhaps on the verge of a truism. No, no, no. Theophila re-enters, her veil is raised. Theophila as she passes John, lowering her veil. It's all right. There's a hubbub of talk as Theophila and her relatives go out at the upper door. You will need a warm wrap there. I have one here, Mother. Now, Bishop. Is the carriage closed? I hope not. You shall run no risk, my dear Bishop. Claude, come to the gate. Give me your arm, Alec. The talk ceases. John is alone. After a pause he goes out into the garden and stands looking off towards the left, as if watching the departing carriage. Olive enters slowly and sadly. She sits upon the settee, covering her eyes with her hand. John re-enters the room. Seeing Olive, he remains where he is for a moment or two, irresolutely. Then he comes down to her, sits beside her, and takes her hand. End of Act III. End of The Benefit of the Doubt by Arthur Wing Pinarip.