Comtesse.  Mrs. Shand, excuse me for saying that if half of what I hear be true, your husband is seeing that lady a great deal too often. [Maggie is expressionless; she reaches for her stocking, whereat her guest loses patience.] Oh, mon Dieu, put that down; you can buy them at two francs the pair.  Mrs. Shand, why do not you compel yourself to take an intelligent interest in your husband’s work?

Maggie.  I typewrite his speeches.

Comtesse.  But do you know what they are about?

Maggie.  They are about various subjects.

Comtesse.  Oh!

[Did Maggie give her an unseen quizzical glance before demurely resuming the knitting?  One is not certain, as John has come in, and this obliterates her.  A ‘Scotsman on the make,’ of whom David has spoken reverently, is still to be read—­in a somewhat better bound volume—­in John SHAND’s person; but it is as doggedly honest a face as ever; and he champions women, not for personal ends, but because his blessed days of poverty gave him a light upon their needs.  His self-satisfaction, however, has increased, and he has pleasantly forgotten some things.  For instance, he can now call out ‘Porter’ at railway stations without dropping his hands for the barrow.  Maggie introduces the Comtesse, and he is still undaunted.]

John.  I remember you well—­at Glasgow.

Comtesse.  It must be quite two years ago, Mr. Shand.

[John has no objection to showing that he has had a classical education.]

John.  Tempus fugit, Comtesse.

Comtesse.  I have not been much in this country since then, and I return to find you a coming man.

[Fortunately his learning is tempered with modesty.]

John.  Oh, I don’t know, I don’t know.

Comtesse.  The Ladies’ Champion.

[His modesty is tempered with a respect for truth.]

John.  Well, well.

Comtesse.  And you are about, as I understand, to introduce a bill to give women an equal right with men to grow beards [which is all she knows about it.  He takes the remark literally.]

John.  There’s nothing about beards in it, Comtesse. [She gives him time to cogitate, and is pleased to note that there is no result.] Have you typed my speech, Maggie?

Maggie.  Yes; twenty-six pages. [She produces it from a drawer.]

[Perhaps John wishes to impress the visitor.]

John.  I’m to give the ladies’ committee a general idea of it.  Just see, Maggie, if I know the peroration.  ’In conclusion, Mr. Speaker, these are the reasonable demands of every intelligent Englishwoman’—­ I had better say British woman—­’and I am proud to nail them to my flag’—–­

[The visitor is properly impressed.]

Comtesse.  Oho! defies his leaders!