“What, Millamant! a tear, my soul?” cried the theatric Mr. Stagg.

Millamant wiped away the tear.  “I’ll tell you what she said.  She just said:  ’You were kind to me when I was here before, but if you tell me to go away I’ll go.  You need not say it loudly.’  And then she almost fell, and I put out my arm and caught her; and presently she was on her knees there beside me, with her head in my lap....  And then we talked together for a while.  It was mostly me—­she didn’t say much—­but, Charles, the girl’s done no wrong, no more than our child that’s dead and in Christ’s bosom.  She was so tired and worn.  I got some milk and gave it to her, and directly she went to sleep like a baby, with her head on my knee.”

The two went closer, and looked down upon the slender form and still, dark face.  The sleeper’s rest was deep.  A tress of hair, fallen from its fastening, swept her cheek; Mistress Stagg, stooping, put it in place behind the small ear, then straightened herself and pressed her Mirabell’s arm.

“Well, my love,” quoth that gentleman, clearing his throat. “’Great minds, like Heaven, are pleased in doing good.’  My Millamant, declare your thoughts!”

Mistress Stagg twisted her apron hem between thumb and finger.  “She’s more than eighteen, Charles, and anyhow, if I understand it rightly, she was never really bound to Darden.  The law has no hold on her, for neither vestry nor Orphan Court had anything to do with placing her with Darden and Deborah.  She’s free to stay.”

“Free to stay?” queried Charles, and took a prodigious pinch of snuff.  “To stay with us?”

“Why not?” asked his wife, and stole a persuasive hand into that of her helpmate.  “Oh, Charles, my heart went out to her!  I made her so beautiful once, and I could do it again and all the time.  Don’t you think her prettier than was Jane Day?  And she’s graceful, and that quick to learn!  You’re such a teacher, Charles, and I know she’d do her best....  Perhaps, after all, there would be no need to send away to Bristol for one to take Jane’s place.”

“H’m!” said the great man thoughtfully, and bit a curl of Tamerlane’s vast periwig. “’Tis true I esteem her no dullard,” he at last vouchsafed; “true also that she hath beauty.  In fine, solely to give thee pleasure, my Millamant, I will give the girl a trial no later than this very afternoon.”

Audrey stirred in her sleep, spoke Haward’s name, and sank again to rest.  Mr. Stagg took a second pinch of snuff.  “There’s the scandal, my love.  His Excellency the Governor’s ball, Mr. Eliot’s sermon, Mr. Marmaduke Haward’s illness and subsequent duels with Mr. Everard and Mr. Travis, are in no danger of being forgotten.  If this girl ever comes to the speaking of an epilogue, there’ll be in Williamsburgh a nine days’ wonder indeed!”

“The wonder would not hurt,” said Mistress Stagg simply.

“Far from it, my dear,” agreed Mr. Stagg, and closing his snuffbox, went with a thoughtful brow back to the playhouse and the Tartar camp.