JOHN. A minute or two ago I was trying to escape from the dining-room by passing through the kitchen, and I came upon my cook and Mrs. Fraser’s maid discussing me over a bowl of chicken broth. Mrs. Quaife—my cook——! I heard her distinctly! “I never thought Mr. Allingham was that sort of a gentleman,” she said. OLIVE. _What_ sort of a gentleman? JOHN. I don’t know. I got away. OLIVE. H’m, I think I should have been rude to _her_. JOHN. And there are two more relatives of Mrs. Fraser’s to arrive yet. [_Throwing himself into a chair._] The boy has gone to town to fetch the mother. The mother! OLIVE. [_Rising and walking towards the door._] At any rate, I can rid you of one unwelcome guest. [_He looks up at her._] I am going, John, directly. JOHN. Going home? OLIVE. Going back to my flat. JOHN. [_Rising._] Then there is no longer any necessity for me to stick in this wretched cottage. OLIVE. I’m sorry to have been the cause—— JOHN. Of course, I could not leave you here among your—your—— OLIVE. Enemies. JOHN. Well, hardly friends. Then Mrs. Fraser is well enough to travel? OLIVE. I don’t know, I’m sure. JOHN. You’ve relinquished your intention of devoting yourself to her? OLIVE. No, I haven’t relinquished it. Mrs. Fraser will have nothing to do with me. JOHN. She has said so? OLIVE. [_Sitting upon the settee._] Oh, yes, she has said so. JOHN. What reason does she give? OLIVE. She will not receive help from the woman who—who brought that humiliation on her last night. I believe, if she was starving, she wouldn’t take a crust from my hand. JOHN. She returns to her husband, I suppose? OLIVE. I think not. She is in the mood to accept nothing from anybody. JOHN. [_Sitting with his head bowed._] Wounded—wounded. OLIVE. [_With a slight shrug of the shoulders._] She’s a sentimental, romantic little person, I find. Well——! JOHN.