Mrs. Denham.

(_bitterly_) I beat her, since you are kind enough to inquire--beat
her for her utter untrustworthiness and mean prevarication. I said I
would, if she disobeyed me again.

Denham.

Poor little wretch! But what did you say to her? A mother's tongue
is sometimes worse than her hands.

Mrs. Denham.

Yes, I know you think me a vulgar scold.

Denham.

I think you sometimes say more than you mean--more than you realise
at the time. I wonder where the child has gone?

Mrs. Denham.

Oh, she has slunk away to some of her friends. (_Throwing off the
shawl, and letting her feet drop on the ground._) Arthur, are you
uneasy about her?

Denham.

Yes, rather. Jane heard her sobbing in her room, and saying she