[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.

Mrs. Megan.  I don’t want to go.  They’ll stare at me.

Constable. [Comforting.] Not they!  I’ll see to that.

Wellwyn. [Very upset.] Take her in a cab, Constable, if you must —­for God’s sake! [He pulls out a shilling.] Here!

Constable. [Taking the shilling.] I will, sir, certainly.  Don’t think I want to——­

Wellwyn.  No, no, I know.  You’re a good sort.

Constable. [Comfortable.] Don’t you take on, sir.  It’s her first try; they won’t be hard on ’er.  Like as not only bind ’er over in her own recogs. not to do it again.  Come, my dear.

Mrs. Megan. [Trying to free herself from the policeman’s cloak.] I want to take this off.  It looks so funny.

     [As she speaks the door is opened by Ann; behind whom is dimly
     seen the form of old Timson, still heading the curious
     persons.]