THE THIRD ACT.
THE END OF THE HONEYMOON.
The scene is still the Renshaws’ Florentine villa. Janet Preece is lying upon a sofa, and Wilfrid is sitting on a footstool by her side reading to her.
Wilfrid Brudenell.
Miss Preece, I hope you’re tired of my reading.
Janet Preece.
Why?
Wilfrid Brudenell.
Because you’ve heard all that Galignani has to remark.
Janet Preece.
I’m afraid I haven’t heard much.
Wilfrid Brudenell.
Not heard much! oh!
Janet Preece.
Not much of Galignani. I’ve never been read to before, and I only know that your kind voice has been rising and falling and rising and falling, and all for me. I didn’t want to hear the words.
Wilfrid Brudenell.
By Jove! You’re quite yourself this morning, aren’t you?
Janet Preece.
No—not myself. I feel so happy. But I am dreadfully puzzled. Tell me—have I been very ill?
Wilfrid Brudenell.
[Holding her hand.] Just near enough to brain fever to be able to say “How do you do?” to it and go off in another direction.
Janet Preece.
Have I been ill long?
Wilfrid Brudenell.
Long enough to make me—to make us desperately anxious.
Janet Preece.
How long is that?
Wilfrid Brudenell.
Three days.
Janet Preece.
Three days—three days. How strange to have lost three days out of one’s life! I seem to have died and to have come into a beautiful new world.
Wilfrid Brudenell.
That’s a great compliment to the Villa Colobiano and its mistress.
Janet Preece.
Ah, she is the Angel of my new world!
Wilfrid Brudenell.
One angel is very little to do all the work of a beautiful new world.
[Janet timidly withdraws her hand.]
Janet Preece.
Oh, she has her brother to help her, of course.
[Leslie enters, and Janet embraces her.]
Leslie.
The post brought me a letter from my dear one—my husband—and I hid myself away to read it.
Wilfrid Brudenell.
When does Dun start for home, Les?
Leslie.
I don’t know; this was written the day before yesterday.
Janet Preece.
Your husband? You—you are married?
Leslie.
Married! Ah, I forget that my poor invalid knows nothing about her nurse. Let me tell you. I mustn’t blame you for not guessing it; but I am that exceedingly important person, a newly-married lady. I am Mrs. Renshaw.
Janet Preece.
[Taking Leslie’s hand.] Mrs.—Renshaw. I shall say the name to myself over and over again that I may seem to have known you longer. Mrs.—Renshaw.
Leslie.
Yes, and my husband is in Rome preparing our first real home. You will see him soon—oh, I hope very soon.
Janet Preece.
I should like to see one who is so precious to you, of course—only——
Leslie.
Only—what?
Janet Preece.
Only I know that when your dear companion comes back I shall lose you.
Leslie.
Hush, hush! You mustn’t distress yourself; you will be ill again.
Janet Preece.
I would be ill again, gladly, if I could see your face constantly bending over me as I have seen it for the last three days. Oh, Mrs. Renshaw, why have you been so good to me, a stranger?
Wilfrid Brudenell.
I say, Leslie, aren’t Dun’s letters furious about Mrs. Stonehay’s bad behaviour?
Janet Preece.
Mrs. Stonehay! I can’t go back to her! Oh, don’t send me back to Mrs. Stonehay! Oh, don’t, please don’t!
Leslie.
No, dear, no—of course not. [To Wilfrid.] Why, I haven’t written a word to Dun about our little visitor and Mrs. Stonehay’s resentment at our sheltering her. If I had, the dear fellow would have flown home to fight my battles for me, and left his business unfinished. I know Dun.
Janet Preece.
Mrs. Stonehay’s resentment at your giving me shelter! Oh, why should she be so cruel to me!
Leslie.
Hush, dear—it is Mrs. Stonehay’s nature to be jealous and arrogant. When she discovered that her dependent, as she called you, was installed here as my friend, she indignantly reproached me for enticing you from her service.
Wilfrid Brudenell.
I never saw a woman so angry. I had the honour of bowing her out at the front door, and she declared she shook the dust of the Villa Colobiano from her feet; luckily, it was only a figure of speech, for her feet are very large.
[Priscilla enters.]
Priscilla.
Miss Stonehay is here, ma’am.
[Priscilla retires.]
Janet Preece.
Oh, Mrs. Renshaw!
Leslie.
Don’t be alarmed, Janet. You don’t know that during the last three days the face you have seen bending over you has often been poor Irene’s.
[Irene enters, and appears agitated.]
Leslie.
Irene. You are trembling—there is some trouble?
Irene.
[Quietly to Leslie.] Yes—I’ve come to tell you. Janet, I am glad to see you almost well again. Don’t you believe me?
Janet Preece.
[Shrinking from her.] Yes—I—I am better.
Irene.
Ah, don’t be frightened of me—not of me! Janet!
[Janet looks at Irene, then goes to her.]
Irene.
[Kissing Janet.] Thank you. [Giving Leslie a letter.] A letter, Leslie.
Leslie.
From your mother?
Irene.
From my mother. Read it.
Leslie.
[As she reads.] Oh—oh! Irene, do you guess the drift of this?
Irene.
Better than you do, Leslie. It is a humble apology from Mrs. Stonehay for her unintentional rudeness upon misunderstanding the motive of Mrs. Renshaw’s extreme kindness to poor Miss Preece.
Leslie.
Yes, it is an apology.
Irene.
Followed by an entreaty that Mrs. Renshaw will permit Mrs. Stonehay to call at the Villa Colobiano immediately to make peace in person.
[Wilfrid and Janet go down into the garden.]
Leslie.
You know the letter almost word for word.
Irene.
I know my mother better day by day. Leslie, you don’t see what that means?
Leslie.
That your mother is sorry.
Irene.
No—it means that she has just heard from Lord Dangars that he is an old and intimate friend of your husband’s, and that they chanced to come together again two days ago in Rome.
Leslie.
I am grieved to pain you, Irene, but I am sure that my husband can’t be aware of the true character of Lord Dangars.
Irene.
Possibly not, but my mother sees that Lord Dangars may hear of her conduct through Mr. Renshaw, and is therefore anxious to conciliate you without delay.
Leslie.
Oh! [She tears Mrs. Stonehay’s letter into pieces.]
Irene.
Oh, Leslie, the meanness of my life is crushing me! I can’t be faithful to my mother, and yet I loathe myself for being a traitor to her. I seem to bring a worldly taint even into your home, and yet your home is so sweet and pure to me that I haven’t the courage to shut myself out of it. How you must despise me!
[Weaver enters.]
Leslie.
Weaver!
Weaver.
I beg your pardon, ma’am; I wasn’t aware you were engaged.
Leslie.
Why have you left your master in Rome? He is—well?
Weaver.
Quite, ma’am. I haven’t left the master in Rome; we got back to Florence this morning.
Leslie.
He is in Florence!
Weaver.
Master finished his business in Rome a little sooner than he expected, and we made a rush, ma’am, for the night train. Getting in so very early this morning, master thought it best to go to the Hôtel de la Paix for an hour or two.
Leslie.
Thought it best to go to the Hôtel de la Paix! Oh, there must be some reason!
Weaver.
[Handing a letter to Leslie.] The reason is, ma’am, that master is bringing a visitor home with him and didn’t think it right to take you quite unprepared.
Leslie.
A visitor?
Weaver.
Yes, ma’am—Lord Dangars.
Leslie.
Lord Dangars here! Oh! Dunstan, Dunstan!
Irene.
[To herself.] So soon—so soon; so short a respite!
[Wilfrid and Janet come up the steps from the garden.]
Leslie.
[To herself as she reads the letter.] Ah, I knew it! My poor Dun, to be victimized by such a companionship. I quite understand, Weaver. Mr. Renshaw will be here almost directly?
Weaver.
He and his lordship were at breakfast when I left, ma’am; in less than half-an-hour, I should say.
Leslie.
Tell the servants. [Weaver goes out.]
Irene.
Leslie, the thought that you are to be thrown into the society of this man is unendurable to me.
Leslie.
And yet you are speaking of the man you are going to marry.
Irene.
Certainly, but by my marriage I hope to lose much of his society. But you—oh, your husband is to blame, to blame!
Leslie.
Hush, Irene! You do Mr. Renshaw an injustice. Look. [She hands Irene Dunstan’s letter.] Will, Dun has come back! Janet, be glad for my sake!
Irene.
[Reading the letter.] “Dear One. Weaver will explain my mode of arrival. Dangars I once knew fairly well, and somehow he won’t be shaken off now. As there appears to be an engagement between him and your friend Miss Stonehay I have asked him to be our guest for a couple of days, thinking you may consider it a kindness to her; but please don’t extend the term, as he is not quite the man I wish my wife to count among her acquaintances.”
[Janet and Wilfrid stroll away.]
Leslie.
[To herself.] My husband home again—home again—home again! But, oh, why hasn’t he come back to me alone!
Irene.
Leslie, I perceive I have done Mr. Renshaw an injustice. But surely you had some further motive in sharing with me the privilege of enjoying Mr. Renshaw’s estimate of the gentleman who is to be my husband?
Leslie.
Yes, I had. I will convince you of the contempt in which honest men hold such as Lord Dangars.
Irene.
[Crushing the letter in her hand.] Thank you—I—— Leslie! you are right—save me—save me!
Leslie.
Irene!
Irene.
I knew that my next meeting with Lord Dangars could not be long delayed, and I taught myself to think of it coldly and callously. But, now that the moment has come, and I am to lay my hand in his and look him in the face—a woman willing to sell herself—every nerve in my body is on fire with the shame of it and I can’t, I can’t fall so utterly!
Leslie
Dear Irene, I knew I should save you!
Irene.
Ah, but can you? I am such a coward; I haven’t the courage of your good instincts. If you don’t help me I shall falter and be lost!
Leslie.
But I can help you. I will make an appeal to your mother.
Irene.
That’s hopeless, hopeless!
Leslie.
Then I will face Lord Dangars himself.
Irene.
You!
Leslie.
Yes, with my husband. Ah, Irene, there are good men still to fight the battles of weak women, and I promise you my dear husband’s aid.
[Wilfrid and Janet re-appear, talking earnestly.]
Irene.
Hush!
Leslie.
[Quietly to Irene.] Go back to your mother and tell her I will see her in answer to her letter.
[Leslie and Irene go into the villa.]
Janet Preece.
[To Wilfrid.] No, no, please, don’t speak to me like that! I mustn’t listen to you, indeed I mustn’t.
Wilfrid Brudenell.
I never thought I should hurt you by what I’ve said. What I was foolish enough to think was—that perhaps you—didn’t dislike me.
Janet Preece.
Dislike you! Why, there’s no book in the world that’s long enough, and no poetry ever written that’s sweet enough, to match what I think, but can’t say, in gratitude to you and Mrs. Renshaw.
Wilfrid Brudenell.
Ah, we don’t want you to thank us, Janet—unless it’s by a tinge of colour in your white face. You make me feel how mean I’ve been to ask for your love.
Janet Preece.
Oh, stop, stop! I can’t bear you to say such a thing.
Wilfrid Brudenell.
I’ve no right to press you for the reason you can’t love me.
Janet Preece.
No, no—don’t, don’t!
Wilfrid Brudenell.
I can only guess what’s in your mind. Is it that we’re such new friends to talk of love and marriage? Because, Janet, if we know each other for years I can never alter the truth, that it took only a minute to fall in love with you.
Janet Preece.
No, it isn’t that you’re a new friend; for the matter o’ that, after Mrs. Renshaw, you’re my only friend. It isn’t that—it isn’t that.
Wilfrid Brudenell.
Then, if we’re your only friends, at least I know that you don’t love any other——
Janet Preece.
[Starting up and hiding her face from him.] Any other!
Wilfrid Brudenell.
Any other—man.
Janet Preece.
No—no. I don’t—I don’t love any other man.
Wilfrid Brudenell.
And yet you can’t love me. I’m answered. Ah, Janet, a man who isn’t loved had better never seek the reason, or if he does he should look for it—in himself. My brother-in-law will be home in a few minutes and I can very well be spared here. So there’s one thing I beg of you, that you won’t let this—stupidity of mine shorten your stay at the Villa Colobiano.
Janet Preece.
[Bursting into tears.] I can’t bear it! My heart will break!
Wilfrid Brudenell.
You seemed in bitter trouble when we first met; don’t leave us till we have helped to make life easier for you.
Janet Preece.
Oh, if we never had met—if we never had met!
Wilfrid Brudenell.
Why, I’ve done nothing but love you, Janet. Come, you’re not cruel enough to wish you had never seen me?
Janet Preece.
Ah, no! No! Believe me, the only happiness for such as I is in such wretchedness as this. Bid me good-bye—I am going.
Wilfrid Brudenell.
No!
Janet Preece.
Let me steal away quietly. Tell your sister that I pray God to bless her, her husband, and her children when they come to make her life perfect; say I am only a poor creature never worth the love I’ve stolen from you both, but that my thoughts will be only of you and her till I die.
Wilfrid Brudenell.
No, you must not leave the house till you have seen Leslie.
Janet Preece.
Don’t keep me here! If I see her again I must tell her why I run away from the one sweet prospect my life has given me!
Wilfrid Brudenell.
You do love me then! You do love me!
[He draws her to him, but she breaks away with a low cry as Leslie enters.]
Janet Preece.
Let me go! let me go!
Leslie.
Janet!
Janet Preece.
[To Leslie in a low whisper.] Mrs. Renshaw! You don’t know what a base, wicked girl you are sheltering! I’m not fit to be in your house! Oh, I’ll tell you—I’ll tell you!
Wilfrid Brudenell.
Leslie, there have been no secrets between us ever, and there’s a promise that there never shall be any.
Leslie.
Will?
Wilfrid Brudenell.
I—I have told Janet that I love her, and I have asked her to be my wife. But Janet is in some distress and wishes to leave us. So, Les, I want you to do me a service.
Leslie.
What service, brother dear?
Wilfrid Brudenell.
I want you to help her—and me.
[He leaves them together.]
Leslie.
Janet! Janet Preece. I love my brother very dearly, and long ago I determined that the moment his heart went out to a good girl I would call her my sister without a murmur. But you have said something to me which has—frightened me. Oh, Janet, what is it that’s wrong—what is it that’s wrong? [Janet kneels humbly at Leslie’s feet.] Why do you kneel, Janet?
Janet Preece.
Because it’s my place in the world for evermore; because I’m of no more worth than the clod of earth you turn aside with your foot; because the time has been when I was one of the tempted and not one of the strong.
Leslie.
[Turning away.] Oh, Janet, Janet.
Janet Preece.
When I found that your brother loved me I wanted to run away without the dreadful shame of confessing the truth to you. But I’m a little happier for having told you, and I’ll go out of your house now quickly and quietly, and you’ll never see me nor hear of me again. [Kissing the edge of Leslie’s dress.] Good-bye—my dear. Good-bye, oh my dear, my dear. [She rises, and is about to go.]
Leslie.
No, no! Stop! What you have told me seems to have stunned me. I—I can’t realize it yet.
Janet Preece.
Don’t try to—it’s better you should never realize it.
Leslie.
A few minutes ago you and I were like simple girls; now we have suddenly become sad grown women. Will—my poor Will! What shall I do?
Janet Preece.
Nothing but let me go.
Leslie.
Let you go! You have come into my life now, and your weakness and loneliness make it my task to protect you. Put on your hat—quickly. [Janet hesitates.] Quickly! Throw that shawl over your shoulders. [Janet obediently puts on the hat and shawl. Leslie begins writing hurriedly at the table.] You mustn’t re-enter this house; you and my brother must never meet again. My poor brother! I am going to send you to a friend who will gladly render me a service. This afternoon I will come to you. “The Villa Lotta, Viale dei Colli.” Are you ready?
Janet Preece.
Yes.
Leslie.
Present this—and here, here is some money. Come, we will go through the garden.
[They go together to the garden steps. Suddenly Janet utters a cry of horror.]
Leslie.
Janet!
Janet Preece.
[Dragging Leslie from the steps.] Come away—come away! Look there! Look there!
Leslie.
[Looking into the garden.] My husband and Lord Dangars.
Janet Preece.
It’s the man—the man!
Leslie.
The man! Lord Dangars!
Janet Preece.
He lied to me; I have never known his true name till now. That’s the man who called himself Lawrence Kenward.
Leslie.
Great Heavens! They are coming this way into the house.
Janet Preece.
Ah, hide me, hide me! I haven’t the courage to meet him. Ah, hide me!
[She staggers to the sofa and sinks down beside it.]
Leslie.
Janet!
[Leslie crouches down by Janet and puts her arms round her protectingly, as Dunstan Renshaw and Lord Dangars ascend the steps.]
Lord Dangars.
Phew! I’m smothered with dust; you would walk.
Dunstan Renshaw.
I’m very sorry. Shall we restore the perfection of our appearance before looking for Mrs. Renshaw?
[They go into the villa.]
Leslie.
Janet! Do you know that this is the man to whom Irene Stonehay is engaged to be married?
Janet Preece.
I—I’ve heard them speak of him; I never suspected who he was. Heaven pity her! He’ll kill her, body and soul.
Leslie.
No, no. It is you who must help me to save her.
Janet Preece.
I!
Leslie.
You must. If you do your utmost to rescue this weak woman from the dreadful life that is before her you’ll do something to make you happier in the future.
Janet Preece.
What can I do! I couldn’t shame him.
Leslie.
But you could shame her mother—you could drive any remaining feeling of irresolution from this poor girl’s mind.
Janet Preece.
They wouldn’t believe me; why should they?
Leslie.
Then, if they doubt you, will you face this miserable libertine before their eyes?
Janet Preece.
Ah, no, no! For months I’ve been seeking him to beg him to make reparation to me, but now that I’ve found him I want to put miles between us, for I feel I’d rather go down to my grave what I am than live what he could make me!
[Priscilla enters.]
Priscilla.
Mrs. Stonehay and Miss Stonehay are here, ma’am.
Janet Preece.
Oh!
Leslie.
I’ll see them. [Priscilla retires.]
Janet Preece.
Let me go—give me leave to go.
Leslie.
You are free to go, Janet—go. But you are going from your duty.
Janet Preece.
My duty—my duty. If he came to hear of it, would he think a little better of me for it?
Leslie.
He?
Janet Preece.
Wilfrid—your brother.
Leslie.
I think he would.
Janet Preece.
I’ll stay. I’ll try and do my duty.
[She sinks upon the sofa as Mrs. Stonehay and Irene enter. Mrs. Stonehay advances to Leslie with outstretched hands.]
Mrs. Stonehay.
My dear Mrs. Renshaw!
Leslie.
[Coldly.] Mrs. Stonehay.
Mrs. Stonehay.
Dear child, what can I say to you in reference to our—misunderstanding, shall I call it?
Leslie.
Say nothing, please, nothing.
Mrs. Stonehay.
We will say nothing. The passing ill-humours of a crochetty but not unamiable old woman are best forgotten. Ah, my dear, remember I am about to lose my daughter. But I have yet to make my peace with our little friend here. You have been indisposed, my poor Janet? Let it be a lesson to you—never mistake firmness for unkindness. Don’t stand, in your weak state. [Janet sinks back upon the sofa.] I am positively in ecstasies, dear Mrs. Renshaw, to learn that Lord Dangars is to be a guest at the Villa Colobiano.
Leslie.
To my surprise I find that my husband and this gentleman are acquainted.
Mrs. Stonehay.
Are old and close friends. And you weren’t aware of it! Delightful!
Leslie.
I say again I am surprised.
Mrs. Stonehay.
Naturally. You will like Dangars. He has suffered, poor fellow, but he has come out of the furnace a very refined metal.
Leslie.
My husband—knowing Lord Dangars, I venture to think, but slightly—has indeed invited him to this house.
Mrs. Stonehay.
Charming! It brings us all so closely together. Will Lord Dangars, may I ask, remain with you very long?
Leslie.
No.
Mrs. Stonehay.
No?
Leslie.
Because, Mrs. Stonehay, I cannot, I regret to say, consent to receive Lord Dangars.
Mrs. Stonehay.
I confess I don’t understand. Your husband’s friend——
Leslie.
No, Mrs. Stonehay; my husband has only to know Lord Dangars as thoroughly as I do to consider him an unfit companion for any reputable man or woman.
Mrs. Stonehay.
Do you forget that you are speaking of one who is to be my daughter’s husband? Irene! are you dumb?
[Leslie turns to Irene, who is sitting with her head bowed and her hands clasped.]
Leslie.
Irene! Irene!
[Irene rises, supporting herself by the table.]
Irene.
Mother—don’t ask me to marry Lord Dangars! Oh, don’t make me do that—don’t make me do that!
Mrs. Stonehay.
Oh, I see—I quite see. [To Leslie.] How dare you tamper with my daughter—how dare you? [To Irene.] We will go home. You shall never enter this house again; our acquaintance with this lady has terminated.
Leslie.
Irene!
Mrs. Stonehay.
What! Do you think by your mock-morality to upset my calculations for Irene’s welfare? If so, you can have this satisfaction for your pains—that one word, one look, from me will do more with this weak, ungrateful girl than a month of your impudent meddling. Good morning.
[Mrs. Stonehay and Irene are going.]
Leslie.
Irene!
Irene.
I—I told you I was a coward. Good-bye.
Leslie.
Oh, Irene!
Irene.
You have done your utmost to save me——!
Leslie.
No! I have not yet done my utmost. Janet! Janet!
[Janet rises from the sofa with an effort, and Leslie takes her by the hand.]
Leslie.
Look here! This poor child is a living sacrifice to a man whose history is a horrible chapter of dishonour. He is a man who preys upon the weak under the mask of a false name; who stabs but has not the mercy to kill; and who leaves his victims to bleed to death in their hearts, slowly but surely.
Mrs. Stonehay.
I always feared this was a worthless girl. But pray, what has her depravity to do with us?
Leslie.
Only this. Janet has just discovered the whereabouts of the man she has been seeking.
Mrs. Stonehay.
Really this is no concern of ours.
Leslie.
There you are mistaken, Mrs. Stonehay.
Mrs. Stonehay.
Mistaken?
Leslie.
Yes. Because, if this man were willing to atone to Janet Preece by marrying her, he could not fulfil his engagement to your daughter.
Irene.
Oh!
Mrs. Stonehay.
This is an infamous fabrication!
Leslie.
[To Janet.] Is it the truth?
Janet Preece.
It is—the truth.
[Janet sinks back upon the sofa burying her face in the pillows.]
Irene.
Oh, Leslie!
Mrs. Stonehay.
A girl of that character lives upon her lying romances, and the woman who harbours such a creature becomes a partner and not a protector. [To Irene.] Come—do you hear me!
Irene.
No, no! Leslie!
Leslie.
Dunstan!
[Dunstan Renshaw and Lord Dangars enter.]
Dunstan Renshaw.
[Tenderly.] Leslie. [He bows to Mrs. Stonehay and Irene.] Leslie, dear, let me introduce Lord Dangars to you. [Janet raises her head with a startled look of horror.]
Lord Dangars.
[Offering his hand.] Mrs. Renshaw, I——
Leslie.
No, Dunstan; forgive me—I cannot make the acquaintance of Lord Dangars.
Dunstan Renshaw.
[In an undertone..] Leslie!
Leslie.
If Lord Dangars wishes for an explanation, Dunstan, I have only to recall to him the existence of this unhappy girl whose story is known to me.
[She reveals Janet.]
Janet Preece.
No, no!
Leslie.
Janet Preece.
[Dunstan stares at Janet helplessly and horror-stricken.]
Lord Dangars.
I should not be so impolite as to disturb Mrs. Renshaw’s prejudices against me were they founded upon less illusory evidence. But I can assure Mrs. Renshaw that I believe I have never seen this young lady until the present moment.
[Leslie looks aghast at Janet.]
Mrs. Stonehay.
Janet, do you say you know Lord Dangars?
Janet Preece.
No, no! It’s not he I know! It is a mistake—I——
Mrs. Stonehay.
A mistake!
Janet Preece.
Ah! Let me go! let me go!
[Leslie grasps her by the arm.]
Mrs. Stonehay.
Girl, do you mean that you know Mr. Renshaw?
[Dangars and Leslie turn to Dunstan, who is staring blankly before him with his hands clenched.]
Leslie.
Janet! Janet! [As the truth dawns upon her.] Oh!
Janet Preece.
Ah! What have I done to you! I’d have died to save you this. God forgive me! I’m not fit to live! Kill me! Kill me! Ah!
[She rushes down the garden steps, past Leslie, who is as one turned to stone.]
Mrs. Stonehay.
Lord Dangars, may I trespass upon your good nature so far as to beg your escort home? Poor Irene is naturally much distressed.
Lord Dangars.
[Looking from Dunstan to Leslie.] This is perhaps not the time to express regrets——
Mrs. Stonehay.
Regrets! Regrets that the character of an honourable man is cleared from a gross and vindictive slander! It is not from us that regrets should come. I am ready.
Irene.
[Weeping.] Leslie—Leslie! [She takes Leslie’s hand and kisses it. Leslie stands, with staring eyes, immovable.]
Mrs. Stonehay.
Irene, give your arm to Lord Dangars.
[Irene gives her arm helplessly to Dangars. Mrs. Stonehay shrugs her shoulders and goes out, followed by Dangars with Irene.]
Dunstan Renshaw.
[In a hollow, changed voice.] Leslie—Leslie! [He staggers towards her.] You hate me—you hate me. [He looks into her face.] How you hate me!
Leslie.
[Speaking with great effort.] Deny it—deny it.
Dunstan Renshaw.
Deny it!
Leslie.
Deny it.
Dunstan Renshaw.
I—I—Ah, God! I’m guilty! I’m guilty! I’m guilty! Don’t ask me to tell you the story of my life—I can’t—I can’t. It’s one of sin—all sin. Till I met you—till I met you. Can you hear me?
[She nods her head twice, still with the wild dazed look in her face.]
Dunstan Renshaw.
Then everything altered. I love you—I love you! In all the world there is nothing for me but you—you make my day or my night by the opening or the closing of your eyes. There is nothing for me but you! I worship you!
[The man is heard again singing to the mandolin. Leslie shudders and tries to go.]
Dunstan Renshaw.
Don’t leave me! You won’t leave me! I can’t live away from you. Have mercy on me! Have mercy on me! Mercy! [He kneels to her.] I repent! Help me to begin a new life! I’m young; I won’t die till I’ve made amends. I won’t die till I’ve done some good act to make you proud of me! Oh, give me hope!
Leslie.
[As if in a dream.] Deny it!
Dunstan Renshaw.
I’m guilty—you know it! Have mercy! Give me a faint hope! A year hence you’ll pardon me? Two years—ten? A little hope—only a little hope!
Leslie.
Deny it.
Dunstan Renshaw.
I can’t deny it!
Leslie.
Go!
[After a moment he goes quietly away, then she falls to the ground in a swoon. The voice of the singer rises in the distance.]
END OF THE THIRD ACT.