Chapter II: Mrs. Crashaw; Mr. and Mrs. Roberts

MRS. CRASHAW, entering unobserved: ‘Promise you what, Agnes? The man doesn’t smoke _now_. What more can you ask?’ She starts back from the spectacle of Roberts’s disordered dress. ‘Why, what’s happened to you, Edward?’

MRS. ROBERTS, springing to her feet: ‘Oh, you may well ask that, Aunt Mary! Happened? You ought to fall down and worship him! And you _will_ when you know what he’s been through. He’s been robbed!’

MRS. CRASHAW: ‘Robbed? What nonsense! Who robbed him? _Where_ was he robbed?’

MRS. ROBERTS: ‘He was attacked by two garotters—’

ROBERTS: ‘No, no—’

MRS. ROBERTS: ‘Don’t speak, Edward! I _know_ there were two. On the Common. Not half an hour ago. As he was going to get me some rosebuds. In the midst of this terrible storm.’

MRS. CRASHAW: ‘Is this true, Edward?’

MRS. ROBERTS: ‘Don’t answer, Edward! One of the band threw his arm round Edward’s neck—so.’ She illustrates by garotting Mrs. Crashaw, who disengages herself with difficulty.

MRS. CRASHAW: ‘Mercy, child! What _are_ you doing to my lace?’

MRS. ROBERTS: ‘And the other one snatched his watch, and ran as fast as he could.’

MRS. CRASHAW: ‘Willis’s watch? Why, he’s got it on.’

MRS. ROBERTS, with proud delight: ‘Exactly what I said when he told me.’ Then, very solemnly: ‘And do you know _why_ he’s got it on?—’Sh, Edward! I _will_ tell! Because he ran after them and took it back again.’

MRS. CRASHAW: ‘Why, they might have killed him!’

MRS. ROBERTS: ‘Of _course_ they might. But _Edward_ didn’t care. The idea of being robbed at six o’clock on the Common made him so furious that he scorned to cry out for help, or call the police, or anything; but he just ran after them—’

ROBERTS: ‘Agnes! Agnes! There was only _one_.’

MRS. ROBERTS: ‘Nonsense, Edward! How could you tell, so excited as you were?—And caught hold of the largest of the wretches—a perfect young giant—’

ROBERTS: ‘No, no; not a _giant_, my dear.’

MRS. ROBERTS: ‘Well, he was _young_, anyway!—And flung him on the ground.’ She advances upon Mrs. Crashaw in her enthusiasm.

MRS. CRASHAW: ‘Don’t you fling _me_ on the ground, Agnes! I won’t have it.’

MRS. ROBERTS: ‘And tore his coat open, while all the rest were tugging at him, and snatched his watch, and then—and then just walked coolly away.’

ROBERTS: ‘No, my dear; I ran as fast as I could.’

MRS. ROBERTS: ‘Well, _ran_. It’s quite the same thing, and I’m just as proud of you as if you had walked. Of course you were not going to throw your life away.’

MRS. CRASHAW: ‘I think he did a very silly thing in going after them at all.’

ROBERTS: ‘Why, of course, if I’d thought twice about it, I shouldn’t have done it.’

MRS. ROBERTS: ‘Of course you wouldn’t, dear! And that’s what I want him to promise, Aunt Mary: never to do it again, no matter _how_ much he’s provoked. I want him to promise it right here in your presence, Aunt Mary!’

MRS. CRASHAW: ‘I think it’s much more important he should put on another collar and—shirt, if he’s going to see company.’

MRS. ROBERTS: ‘Yes; go right off at once, Edward. How you _do_ think of things, Aunt Mary! I really suppose I should have gone on all night and never noticed his looks. Run, Edward, and do it, dear. But—kiss me first! Oh, it _don’t_ seem as if you could be alive and well after it all! Are you sure you’re not hurt?’

ROBERTS, embracing her: ‘No; I’m all right.’

MRS. ROBERTS: ‘And you’re not injured internally? Sometimes they’re injured internally—aren’t they, Aunt Mary?—and it doesn’t show till months afterwards. Are you sure?’

ROBERTS, making a cursory examination of his ribs with his hands: ‘Yes, I think so.’

MRS. ROBERTS: ‘And you don’t feel any bad effects from the cologne _now_? Just think, Aunt Mary, I gave him cologne to drink, and poured the brandy on his head, when he came in! But I was determined to keep calm, whatever I did. And if I’ve poisoned him I’m quite willing to die for it—oh, quite! I would gladly take the blame of it before the whole world.’

MRS. CRASHAW: ‘Well, for pity’s sake, let the man go and make himself decent. There’s your bell now.’

MRS. ROBERTS: ‘Yes, do go, Edward. But—kiss me—’

MRS. CRASHAW: ‘He _did_ kiss you, Agnes. Don’t be a simpleton!’

MRS. ROBERTS: ‘Did he? Well, kiss me again, then, Edward. And now do go, dear. M-m-m-m.’ The inarticulate endearments represented by these signs terminate in a wild embrace, protracted halfway across the room, in the height of which Mr. Willis Campbell enters.