SYBIL. I think--[she is not sure what she thinks]--I think you are very wonderful. MAGGIE. Was that John calling to you? SYBIL. Was it? [She is glad to join him in the dining-room.] MAGGIE. Comtesse, hold the line a minute. [She is alone, and she has nearly reached the end of her self-control. She shakes emotionally and utters painful little cries; there is something she wants to do, and she is loth to do it. But she does it.] Are you there, Comtesse? There’s one other thing, dear Comtesse; I want you to invite Lady Sybil also; yes, for the whole time that John is there. No, I’m not mad; as a great favour to me; yes, I have a very particular reason, but I won’t tell you what it is; oh, call me Scotchy as much as you like, but consent; do, do, do. Thank you, thank you, good-bye. [She has control of herself now, and is determined not to let it slip from her again. When they reappear the stubborn one is writing a letter.] JOHN. I thought I heard the telephone again. MAGGIE [looking up from her labours]. It was the Comtesse; she says she’s to invite Lady Sybil to the cottage at the same time. SYBIL. Me! JOHN. To invite Sybil? Then of course I won’t go, Maggie. MAGGIE [wondering seemingly at these niceties]. What does it matter? Is anything to be considered except the speech? [It has been admitted that she was a little devil.] And, with Sybil on the spot, John, to help you and inspire you, what a speech it will be! JOHN [carried away]. Maggie, you really are a very generous woman. SYBIL [convinced at last]. She is indeed. JOHN. And you’re queer too. How many women in the circumstances would sit down to write a letter? MAGGIE. It’s a letter to you, John. JOHN. To me? MAGGIE. I’ll give it to you when it’s finished, but I ask you not to open it till your visit to the Comtesse ends. JOHN. What is it about? MAGGIE. It’s practical. SYBIL [rather faintly]. Practical? [She has heard the word so frequently to-day that it is beginning to have a Scotch sound. She feels she ought to like MAGGIE, but that she would like her better if they were farther apart. She indicates that the doctors are troubled about her heart, and murmuring her adieux she goes. JOHN, who is accompanying her, pauses at the door.] JOHN [with a queer sort of admiration for his wife]. Maggie, I wish I was fond of you. MAGGIE [heartily]. I wish you were, John. [He goes, and she resumes her letter. The stocking is lying at hand, and she pushes it to the floor. She is done for a time with knitting.] ACT IV