R._ You _couldn't_ be a brute, JACK, if you tried--not to _me._
I'm so glad we haven't got to go out anywhere to-night, aren't _you_?
_Jack_ (_heartily_). Rather! Beastly bore turning out after dinner.
What on earth are you up to over there?
_Mrs. R._ (_who has risen, and has apparently been winding up some
instrument in the corner--as she returns_). Oh, it's only something I
wanted to do this evening.... Now, JACK, listen!
[_The phonograph begins to click and whirr._
_Jack_. That beastly cat in the room again! Turn it out quick--it's
going to be ill.
_Mrs. R._ (_laughing a little hysterically_). No--no, JACK, it isn't
poor Snowball this time! Wait, and you will hear something.
[_The "Voice that Breathed o'er Eden" is suddenly rendered by an organ
and full choir: the remarks of two choristers (who are having a
little difference over a hymn-book), and the subdued sniffs of MRS.
MANDOLINE, being distinctly audible between the verses._
_Mrs. R._ (_breaking down_). Oh, JACK, isn't it beautiful? Wasn't it
_sweet_ of Uncle JOHN to give it to us!
_Jack_ (_who, privately, would have infinitely preferred a small
cheque_). Yes--he's a good old buffer at bottom.
_Mrs. R._ He's a perfect old _love_! Tell me, JACK, you're not _sorry_
you married me, _are_ you?
_Jack.
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