[_Turning to the fire._] Mr. Fraser was taken aback, flabbergasted, I expect, by the tone adopted by the judge to-day; there’s that poor excuse for him. But a little reflection will soon—— THEOPHILA. [_Drying her eyes._] Oh, don’t prose, Jack! [_Turning._] On the whole, I think it’s better that he and I have at last managed to find out where we are. JOHN. [_Turning to her._] Where you are? THEOPHILA. You know, there’s always a moment in the lives of a man and woman who are tied to each other when the man has a chance of making the woman really, really, his own property. It’s only a moment; if he let’s the chance slip, it’s gone—it never comes back. I fancy my husband had _his_ chance to-day. If he had just put his hand on my shoulder this afternoon and said, “You fool, you don’t deserve it, for your stupidity, but I’ll try to save you——”; if he had said something, anything, of that kind to me, I think I could have gone down on my knees to him and——[_Coming to_ JOHN _excitedly_.] But he stared at the carpet, and held on to his head, and moaned out that he must have time, time! Time! Oh, he was my one bit of rock! [_Throwing herself into a chair on the right._] If he’d only mercifully stuck to me for a few months—three months—two—for a month——! JOHN. [_Going to her slowly and deliberately, and standing by her._] Mrs. Fraser. [_She looks up at him surprised._] Of course, whatever future is in store for you, nothing—no luck, no happy times—can ever pay you back for the distress of mind you’ve gone through. THEOPHILA. Nothing, Jack—Mr. Allingham. [_Her hand to her brow._] Oh, nobody knows! Oh, Jack, some nights—some nights—I’ve said my prayers. JOHN. I’ve found myself doing that too—in hansoms, or walking along the street. THEOPHILA. Praying for _me_? JOHN. [_Nervously._] Y-yes. THEOPHILA. Oh, don’t make me cry again! Oh, my head! oh, don’t let me cry any more——! JOHN. Hush, hush, hush! What I want to say is this. You knew young Goodhew? THEOPHILA. Charley Goodhew—the boy that cheated at baccarat? JOHN. He didn’t; he was innocent. THEOPHILA. I’m sure he was, poor fellow. JOHN. Well, he told me, one day in Brussels, that he managed to take all the sting out of his punishment by continually reminding himself that it was undeserved, that there wasn’t a shadow of justification for it. I suppose it would be the same with a woman who—who gets into a scrape; an innocent woman? THEOPHILA.