Part 21 (1/2)

PAULA.

My dear man, you're a blessing. I must telegraph to London for more fis.h.!.+ A strange appet.i.te to cater for! Something to do, to do, to do!

[_She goes out in a mood of almost childish delight._

DRUMMLE.

[_Eyeing Aubrey._] Well?

AUBREY.

[_With a wearied, anxious look._] Well, Cayley?

DRUMMLE.

How are you getting on?

AUBREY.

My position doesn't grow less difficult. I told you, when I met you last week, of this feverish, jealous attachment of Paula's for Ellean?

DRUMMLE.

Yes. I hardly know why, but I came to the conclusion that you don't consider it an altogether fortunate attachment.

AUBREY.

Ellean doesn't respond to it.

DRUMMLE.

These are early days. Ellean will warm towards your wife by-and-by.

AUBREY.

Ah, but there's the question, Cayley!

DRUMMLE.

What question?

AUBREY.

The question which positively distracts me. Ellean is so different from--most women; I don't believe a purer creature exists out of heaven. And I--I ask myself, am I doing right in exposing her to the influence of poor Paula's light, careless nature?

DRUMMLE.

My dear Aubrey!

AUBREY.