JOHN. I understand. [_Taking the banjo from_ ELPHICK.] And you’ve actually brought the banjo. ELPHICK. Well, when a man’s a bit low, sometimes a little music—— JOHN. Thanks. [_To both of them._] Warm, yesterday and to-day, in that Law Court, wasn’t it? ELPHICK. Agra in June. JOHN. Warm in every sense of the word, eh? SHAFTO. Hell. JOHN. [_With his hand to his brow._] Gurrrh! SHAFTO. [_Sharply._] Now, then? ELPHICK. It’s done with now. JOHN. [_Recovering himself._] True; that cursed nightmare of an approaching trial isn’t waiting for me upstairs, in that bedroom of mine, any longer. And to-morrow morning I shall wake with a start to find—what’ll the feeling be like!—that I’ve no lawyers to interview. Besides, I haven’t much to complain of. You two fellows have kept close at my elbow throughout the whole business—hardly ever left me. Well, that’s friendship—[_shaking hands abruptly, first with_ ELPHICK, _then with_ SHAFTO]—God bless yer! [_He walks away and sits on the settee, looking into the fire._ ELPHICK _and_ SHAFTO _stand together, eyeing him uneasily_. SHAFTO. [_In a whisper, to_ ELPHICK.] Peter, our bags are here. What d’ye say to not leaving him to-night, after all? ELPHICK. [_In a whisper._] Yes, I don’t suppose your guv’nor wants to see me so desperate bad as all that comes to. SHAFTO. No, I don’t suppose he does—I mean, we can go over in the morning. JOHN. [_Looking up._] Eh? SHAFTO. Nothing. JOHN. [_Passing his fingers over the strings of the banjo._] You don’t remember, Denzil—nor you, Peter, I suppose; _she_ used to thrum on this thing—well, hardly this thing—the guitar—much the same. Oh, yes, she used to play it very nicely. SHAFTO. [_Puzzled._] Who? Mrs. Fraser? JOHN. Mrs. Fraser! No! [_Handling the banjo roughly._] My wife. ELPHICK. [_Hurrying across to John, taking the banjo from him._] Excuse me, old feller. JOHN. [_Starting up._] I was close to her to-day; we stared each other right in the eyes. We didn’t mean to—we simply did it. We met in the corridor during lunch-time; I was getting out of the way of old Portwood; I turned sharply—and there we were, my wife and I, face to face. It might have been for ten seconds—it was like an hour. ELPHICK. Did she look angry?