[Exeunt Lord and Lady Gules.

Enter Elaine.

Ad.  Dear Elaine.

El.  Sir!

Ad.  Nay, rather Adolphus than sir.

El.  How can I say Adolphus? there is no Adolphus.

Ad.  Indeed there is—­[producing wig and spectacles]—­pup-pup-pardon me while I put them on.  If it was only my wig and spectacles you cared about, did-did-dearest, I will wear them and stammer through life fuf-fuf-for your sake.

El.  Oh, Mr Gresham, how can you be so heartless?  You know very well I loved you—­at least I didn’t love you,—­I mean, I thought I loved Adolphus—­at least I was sure of it at the time; but I’m sure I don’t now.  Oh, how cruel of you!

Ad.  But if it was not my wig and spectacles and stammer for which you felt a magnetic affinity, I want to know exactly what it was you did love; because I am precisely the same human being without them as with them.  What about me struck that mysterious chord of sympathy which vibrated in your affections when I was Plumper, which failed to strike it as Gresham?  Why should not our hearts still beat in sweet accord without my wig?  Why should not “this exquisite garment, which we have both worn—­[takes up the dress, which is lying on a chair in the corner]—­be the symbol of that internal robe which costumes our united souls, woven from the texture of our affections,” without my spectacles?

El.  Mr Gresham, how dare you talk such nonsense?  The texture of our affections indeed! mine are dead—­basely, foully murdered.  Oh, was ever woman so cruelly humiliated?

Ad.  Nay, Elaine, I merely wished to prove to you that your aversion for me was entirely unfounded.  You have proved to me that your love for Adolphus, in the abstract, is as baseless and unsubstantial.  I am not sorry under the circumstances that it should have been murdered, for it was a poor exotic.  Let us not attempt to analyse the mysterious nature of that passion which is too precious a plant to tear up by the roots in order to discover the origin of its existence, but learn rather from this lesson, so painful to us both, that there are more things in heaven and earth than are dreamt of even in the philosophy of Comte, the doctrines of the aesthete, or the politics of Mr Gladstone.  And now, Elaine, farewell,—­this time you need not fear my coming back from Naples. [Moves towards the door and lingers.]

[Elaine puts her face between her hands and sobs convulsively.

Ad.  Elaine, dear Elaine [returns softly and takes her hand], do you wish me to go?

[Elaine shakes her head.

Ad.  Do you wish me to stay?

[Elaine shakes her head.

Ad.  What do you wish me to do?  I must do either one or the other.  Shall I stay and go alternately, or shall we make a fresh start, without prejudice, as the lawyers say?