Alick.  It’s something wicked.

David.  I dare say it is, but it’s something big.

James.  It’s that damned charm.

Maggie [still by the fire].  That’s it.  What was it that made you fancy Elizabeth, James?

James [sheepishly].  I can scarcely say.

Maggie.  It was her charm.

David.  Her charm!

James [pugnaciously].  Yes, her charm.

Maggie.  She had charm for James.

[This somehow breaks them up.  Maggie goes from one to another with an odd little smile flickering on her face.]

David.  Put on your things, Maggie, and we’ll leave his house.

Maggie [patting his kind head].  Not me, David.

[This is a Maggie they have known but forgotten; all three brighten.]

David.  You haven’t given in!

[The smile flickers and expires.]

Maggie.  I want you all to go upstairs, and let me have my try now.

James.  Your try?

Alick.  Maggie, you put new life into me.

James.  And into me.

[David says nothing; the way he grips her shoulder says it for him.]

Maggie.  I’ll save him, David, if I can.

David.  Does he deserve to be saved after the way he has treated you?

Maggie.  You stupid David.  What has that to do with it.

[When they have gone, John comes to the door of the dining-room.  There is welling up in him a great pity for Maggie, but it has to subside a little when he sees that the knitting is still in her hand.  No man likes to be so soon supplanted.  Sybil follows, and the two of them gaze at the active needles.]

Maggie [perceiving that she has visitors].  Come in, John.  Sit down, Lady Sybil, and make yourself comfortable.  I’m afraid we’ve put you about.

[She is, after all, only a few years older than they and scarcely looks her age; yet it must have been in some such way as this that the little old woman who lived in a shoe addressed her numerous progeny.]

John.  I’m mortal sorry, Maggie.

Sybil [who would be more courageous if she could hold his hand].  And
I also.

Maggie [soothingly].  I’m sure you are.  But as it can’t be helped I see no reason why we three shouldn’t talk the matter over in a practical way.

[Sybil looks doubtful, but John hangs on desperately to the word practical.]

John.  If you could understand, Maggie, what an inspiration she is to me and my work.

Sybil.  Indeed, Mrs. Shand, I think of nothing else.

Maggie.  That’s fine.  That’s as it should be.

Sybil [talking too much].  Mrs. Shand, I think you are very kind to take it so reasonably.