PAGE 9
The Parlor-Car
by
MR. RICHARDS: “No.” He rises and goes out at the rear door, comes back, and sits down again
MISS GALBRAITH, rises, and goes to the large mirror to wipe away her tears. She glances at
MR. RICHARDS, who does not move. She sits down in a seat nearer him than the chair she has left. After some faint murmurs and hesitations, she asks, “Will you please tell me why you went out just now?”
MR. RICHARDS, with indifference: “Yes. I went to see if the rear signal was out.”
MISS GALBRAITH, after another hesitation: “Why?”
MR. RICHARDS: “Because, if it wasn’t out, some train might run into us from that direction.”
MISS GALBRAITH, tremulously: “Oh! And was it?”
MR. RICHARDS, dryly: “Yes.”
MISS GALBRAITH returns to her former place, with a wounded air, and for a moment neither speaks. Finally she asks very meekly, “And there’s no danger from the front?”
MR. RICHARDS, coldly: “No.”
MISS GALBRAITH, after some little noises and movements meant to catch Mr. Richards’s attention: “Of course, I never meant to imply that you were intentionally careless or forgetful.”
MR. RICHARDS, still very coldly: “Thank you.”
MISS GALBRAITH: “I always did justice to your good-heartedness, Allen; you’re perfectly lovely that way; and I know that you would be sorry if you knew you had wounded my feelings, however accidentally.” She droops her head so as to catch a sidelong glimpse of his face, and sighs, while she nervously pinches the top of her parasol, resting the point on the floor. Mr. Richards makes no answer. “That about the cigar-case might have been a mistake; I saw that myself, and, as you explain it, why, it was certainly very kind and very creditable to–to your thoughtfulness. It WAS thoughtful!”
MR. RICHARDS: “I am grateful for your good opinion.”
MISS GALBRAITH: “But do you think it was exactly–it was quite– nice, not to tell me that your brother’s engagement was to be kept, when you know, Allen, I can’t bear to blunder in such things?” Tenderly, “DO you? You CAN’T say it was?”
MR. RICHARDS: “I never said it was.”
MISS GALBRAITH, plaintively: “No, Allen. That’s what I always admired in your character. You always owned up. Don’t you think it’s easier for men to own up than it is for women?”
MR. RICHARDS: “I don’t know. I never knew any woman to do it.”
MISS GALBRAITH: “Oh, yes, Allen! You know I OFTEN own up.”
MR. RICHARDS: “No, I don’t.”
MISS GALBRAITH: “Oh, how can you bear to say so? When I’m rash, or anything of that kind, you know I acknowledge it.”
MR. RICHARDS: “Do you acknowledge it now?”
MISS GALBRAITH: “Why, how can I, when I haven’t BEEN rash? WHAT have I been rash” –
MR. RICHARDS: “About the cigar-case, for example.”
MISS GALBRAITH: “Oh! THAT! That was a great while ago! I thought you meant something quite recent.” A sound as of the approaching tram is heard in the distance. She gives a start, and then leaves her chair again for one a little nearer his. “I thought perhaps you meant about–last night.”
MR. RICHARDS: “Well.”
MISS GALBRAITH, very judicially: “I don’t think it was RASH, exactly. No, not RASH. It might not have been very KIND not to–to- -trust you more, when I knew that you didn’t mean anything; but–No, I took the only course I could. Nobody could have done differently under the circumstances. But if I caused you any pain, I’m very sorry; oh, yes, very sorry indeed. But I was not precipitate, and I know I did right. At least I TRIED to act for the best. Don’t you believe I did?”