[He puts on the coat]

Clare.  Where are you going?

Malise.  To “The Watchfire.”

     The door closes behind him, and Mrs. Miler goes up to Clare
     holding out a little blue bottle with a red label, nearly full.

Mrs. Miler.  You know he’s takin’ this [She makes a little motion towards her mouth] to make ’im sleep?

Clare. [Reading the label] Where was it?

Mrs. Miler.  In the bathroom chest o’ drawers, where ’e keeps ’is odds and ends.  I was lookin’ for ’is garters.

Clare.  Give it to me!

Mrs. Miler.  He took it once before.  He must get his sleep.

Clare.  Give it to me!

     Mrs. Miler resigns it, Clare takes the cork out, smells, then
     tastes it from her finger.  Mrs. Miler, twisting her apron in
     her hands, speaks.

MILS.  Miler.  I’ve ’ad it on my mind a long time to speak to yer. 
Your comin’ ’ere’s not done ‘im a bit o’ good.

Clare.  Don’t!

Mrs. Miler.  I don’t want to, but what with the worry o’ this ’ere divorce suit, an’ you bein’ a lady an’ ‘im havin’ to be so careful of yer, and tryin’ to save, not smokin’ all day like ‘e used, an’ not gettin’ ‘is two bottles of claret regular; an’ losin’ his sleep, an’ takin’ that stuff for it; and now this ’ere last business.  I’ve seen ‘im sometimes holdin’ ’is ‘ead as if it was comin’ off. [Seeing Clare wince, she goes on with a sort of compassion in her Chinese face] I can see yer fond of him; an’ I’ve nothin’ against yer you don’t trouble me a bit; but I’ve been with ’im eight years—­we’re used to each other, and I can’t bear to see ’im not ’imself, really I can’t.

     She gives a sadden sniff.  Then her emotion passes, leaving her
     as Chinese as ever.

Clare.  This last business—­what do you mean by that?

Mrs. Miler.  If ’e a’n’t told yer, I don’t know that I’ve any call to.

Clare.  Please.

Mrs. Miler. [Her hands twisting very fast] Well, it’s to do with this ‘ere “Watchfire.”  One of the men that sees to the writin’ of it ’e’s an old friend of Mr. Malise, ’e come ‘ere this mornin’ when you was out.  I was doin’ my work in there [She points to the room on the right] an’ the door open, so I ’earl ’em.  Now you’ve ’ung them curtains, you can’t ’elp it.

Clare.  Yes?

Mrs. Miler.  It’s about your divorce case.  This ’ere “Watchfire,” ye see, belongs to some fellers that won’t ‘ave their men gettin’ into the papers.  So this ’ere friend of Mr. Malise—­very nice ’e spoke about it:  “If it comes into Court,” ’e says, “you’ll ’ave to go,” ’e says.  “These beggars, these dogs, these dogs,” ’e says, “they’ll ’oof you out,” ‘e says.  An’ I could tell by the sound of his voice, ’e meant it—­proper upset ’e was.  So that’s that!