Wellwyn.  But I assure you, we don’t mind at all; we’ll take the greatest care of her.

Constable. [Still more embarrassed.] Well, sir, of course, I’m thinkin’ of—­I’m afraid I can’t depart from the usual course.

Wellwyn. [Sharply.] What!  But-oh!  No!  No!  That’ll be all right, Constable!  That’ll be all right!  I assure you.

Constable. [With more decision.] I’ll have to charge her, sir.

Wellwyn.  Good God!  You don’t mean to say the poor little thing has got to be——­

Constable. [Consulting with him.] Well, sir, we can’t get over the facts, can we?  There it is!  You know what sooicide amounts to—­ it’s an awkward job.

Wellwyn. [Calming himself with an effort.] But look here, Constable, as a reasonable man—­This poor wretched little girl—­you know what that life means better than anyone!  Why!  It’s to her credit to try and jump out of it!

     [The constable shakes his head.]

Wellwyn.  You said yourself her best friends couldn’t wish her better! [Dropping his voice still more.] Everybody feels it!  The Vicar was here a few minutes ago saying the very same thing—­the Vicar, Constable! [The constable shakes his head.] Ah! now, look here, I know something of her.  Nothing can be done with her.  We all admit it.  Don’t you see?  Well, then hang it—­you needn’t go and make fools of us all by——­

Ferrand.  Monsieur, it is the first of April.

Constable. [With a sharp glance at him.] Can’t neglect me duty, sir; that’s impossible.

Wellwyn.  Look here!  She—­slipped.  She’s been telling me.  Come, Constable, there’s a good fellow.  May be the making of her, this.

Constable.  I quite appreciate your good ‘eart, sir, an’ you make it very ’ard for me—­but, come now!  I put it to you as a gentleman, would you go back on yer duty if you was me?

     [Wellwyn raises his hat, and plunges his fingers through and
     through his hair.]

Wellwyn.  Well!  God in heaven!  Of all the d—–­d topsy—­turvy—!  Not a soul in the world wants her alive—­and now she’s to be prosecuted for trying to be where everyone wishes her.

Constable.  Come, sir, come!  Be a man!

     [Throughout all this Mrs. Megan has sat stolidly before the
     fire, but as Ferrand suddenly steps forward she looks up at
     him.]

Ferrand.  Do not grieve, Monsieur!  This will give her courage.  There is nothing that gives more courage than to see the irony of things. [He touches Mrs. Megan’s shoulder.] Go, my child; it will do you good.

     [Mrs. Megan rises, and looks at him dazedly.]

Constable. [Coming forward, and taking her by the hand.] That’s my good lass.  Come along!  We won’t hurt you.