Part 38 (2/2)

Beata, don't talk so wildly. Do shake off such fancies.

Beata (_musing_).

Yes--yes.--You know you'll have a note from Michael in the morning.

Richard.

What do you mean?

Beata.

A note asking you to luncheon to-morrow to meet some friends. Nothing more.

Richard.

What is the object----

Beata.

It seems there has been some gossip at the clubs, and this is the shortest way of putting a stop to it. (_Entreatingly_.) You'll come, Richard, won't you?

Richard.

Beata! Why should we go through this new misery?

Beata (_in wild anxiety_).

Richard, you _will_ come? You must come.

Richard.

I can't, Beata.

Beata.

It is the last thing I shall ever ask of you. Now you're smiling again--well, I'll believe anything you tell me--about your travelling, about your disappearing--I'll believe anything, if you'll only come.

Richard, come for the children's sake. And if not for the children's sake, come for mine--or I shall die of it--I shall die of it, Richard, in the night----

Richard (_overcome_).

I will come.

Beata.

Give me your hand. (Richard _gives it_. Beata _takes his hand, and pa.s.ses it over her eyes and cheeks_.) There--I'm quite quiet again, you see. (_Sits down_.) I don't know if I told you that I'm going to Rossitsch to-morrow.

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