Mrs. Tremaine.

You don’t know how I feel your kindness, Constance.  I have had a hard time of it, so far; but now I have taken my life into my own hands, and I mean to live it out.

Mrs. Denham.

But your husband?  You married again, did you not?

Mrs. Tremaine.

Yes.  Fancy a woman making that mistake twice!  But, you see, I was in an equivocal position.  I had left my first husband, Miss Macfarlane; I don’t want to conceal my misdeeds.

Miss Macfarlane.

Oh, don’t expect paving stones from an old woman like me!  I judge every case on its own merits.  I know what men are, though I’ve been content to gain my experience at my friends’ expense.  I tell ye I know more about the ins and outs of marriages than most married women, just as the curler on the bank sees most of the game.  You mayn’t have been anything worse than a fool, and ye mayn’t have been even that.

Mrs. Tremaine.

Thank you.  I was a fool, of course.  You see, my first marriage was a mistake altogether.  It was my mother’s doing.  I knew nothing of marriage, or love either, for that matter.  That came afterwards, and—­all the scandal.

Miss Macfarlane.

And may I ask, young woman, have you run away from your second husband?  You say that marriage was a mistake too.

Mrs. Tremaine.

No; he is dead now.

Miss Macfarlane.

But you don’t—­(Looks at her dress.)

Mrs. Tremaine.

No, I don’t afficher eternal bereavement.  We were separated for two years.

Mrs. Denham.

Poor Blanche!  Then it was not a success?

Mrs. Tremaine.

No; it was not a success.

Miss Macfarlane.

Well, we mustn’t ask why?

Mrs. Tremaine.

Oh, I’m in the humour for confession.  I think you can understand.  We got on well enough while I was—­free.  But he did the chivalrous thing—­asked me to marry him; and I was glad enough to scramble back to the platform of respectability.

Miss Macfarlane.

Well, I understand that, anyhow.

Mrs. Tremaine.

That seemed to kill the romance, such as it was.  I need not go into the sordid details, but we quarrelled finally about money—­my money.  My husband took to gambling in stocks.  But I have managed to keep my little pittance, fortunately.  Well, that is enough of my affairs.  Have you any children, Constance?

Mrs. Denham.

One little girl, just nine.  Have you any?

Mrs. Tremaine.

No—­none.

Miss Macfarlane.

A woman who has had such unpleasant experiences ought to hate and despise men.  But of course you don’t?

Mrs. Tremaine.

(laughing) No—­I don’t think I hate men exactly.  I despise some men heartily.

Miss Macfarlane.

They’re gey ill to live wi’, eh?