Ten or eleven o’clock. Where, on earth, will she be by ten or eleven o’clock? SIR FLETCHER PORTWOOD. [_Going to the door._] I’ll tell her mother——! JUSTINA. [_Intercepting him._] For goodness’ sake, not yet. Mother’s no use. MRS. CLOYS. [_Reading._] “P.S.—Jack Allingham would not treat a woman so like dirt.” Jack Allingham——[_Suddenly_] Justina! [JUSTINA _again comes to her_.] There’s only one very great danger. JUSTINA. Why, you don’t think Theo would—take poison—or——! MRS. CLOYS. No, I mean a worse danger than that. [_Pointing to a sentence in the letter._] That one. JUSTINA. [_Reading._] “Jack Allingham would not treat a woman——” [_Staring at_ MRS. CLOYS.] Oh——! MRS. CLOYS. This Mr. Allingham? Exceedingly kind and gentle to women—is that the class of man he belongs to? JUSTINA. Y—yes. MRS. CLOYS. Suppose—suppose this wretched girl lets her mind dwell too much just now on Mr. Allingham’s—kindness! JUSTINA. Aunt! MRS. CLOYS. [_Again returning the letter to_ JUSTINA—_with decision_.] Where does he live? Where is he likely to be found? JUSTINA. It’s in the Red Book. [_Pointing to the writing-table._] Claude——! SIR FLETCHER PORTWOOD. Bring me the Red Book! [CLAUDE _finds the Red Book; he and_ SIR FLETCHER PORTWOOD _search for the address_.] Allingham—A—A—A—[_finding the letter_] A! CLAUDE. You’re looking at “Ashley Gardens”—— [MRS. CLOYS _and_ JUSTINA _join_ SIR FLETCHER PORTWOOD _and_ CLAUDE _impatiently_. JUSTINA. I know it’s there. He went into lodgings when he parted from her. And he has a little cottage in Surrey—— CLAUDE. [_Finding the name._] “Allingham——!” SIR FLETCHER PORTWOOD. [_Taking the book from him._] “Allingham, John Crawshaw, Esq., 11 Bentham Street, W., and Turf and Garrick Clubs.—The Lichens, Epsom, Surrey.” [MRS. CLOYS _takes the book from_ SIR FLETCHER. _She tears out the page and throws the book upon the settee._ MRS. CLOYS. [_Folding the extracted page, and slipping it into her glove._] Fletcher, Claude, you had better come with me. I may want you both. Claude, whistle a four-wheeled cab. You hear me! [CLAUDE _goes out_. SIR FLETCHER PORTWOOD. But, Harriet, do you seriously, soberly, entertain the notion? MRS. CLOYS.