[_Watching him._] That looks nice. [_She puts the remains of her biscuit on the table and stretches out her hand for the wine. He gives it to her; she drinks._] Oh! oh! oh—h—h—h! [_There is a pause; there she shakes herself, looks up at him, and breaks into a low, childlike little laugh._] Ha! ha, ha, ha! I’d nearly gone, hadn’t I? [_Emptying her glass._] Oh! oh!... Fetch yourself a glass, and we’ll drink luck to each other. Then I really must be off. The porter said the trains run every—every what was it? [_He brings a glass, which she fills, speaking animatedly._] A tumbler! oh, fie! [_Filling her own glass._] Oh, mine’s a tumbler too! [_Nodding to him._] Ourselves! [_Touching his glass with hers._] Our two poor unfortunate selves! [_They drink._] Ha! I don’t care! do you? JOHN. Care——? THEOPHILA. A hang. For anything; for what the judge said; for what people think. Puh. Here’s to our friend, the judge——! [_Drinking, nearly emptying her glass._] I hope his wife’s a cat who leads him a——! [_Jumping up suddenly, her eyes dilating, holding her glass high in the air._] Happiness and prosperity to Mr. Fraser! [_Loudly._] Mr. Fraser! JOHN. Sssh! oh, hush! THEOPHILA. Fraser of Locheen! [_She goes to the fireplace and flings the contents of her glass into the grate._] Ha! well, that’s throwing good stuff after poor, isn’t it? [_She places her glass on the table; the cigarette box is open; she takes a cigarette._] The old sort? JOHN. [_Quickly._] No, no—— THEOPHILA. [_Striking a match._] Only a whiff. [_Lighting her cigarette._] Sure I’m not in the way, Jack, if I rest here a minute or two longer? JOHN. [_With a glance at the library._] C—certainly not. THEOPHILA. [_Throwing herself upon the settee in a careless attitude, smoking._] Oh, thank God for this rest! [_Looking round._] So this is the little place you used to tell me about—— JOHN. [_Standing, watching her, apprehensively._] Um—— THEOPHILA. Phew! Your fire’s all right to look at——! [_She removes her cape from her shoulders and flings it away from her; he picks it up, and places it over the back of a chair._] Never mind that rag. Are you likely to be in Paris? JOHN. I—I’m not fond of Paris. THEOPHILA.