am not going on with this. I'm very sorry for you, John, but I see
now--I couldn't face it---

[She can't face anything at this moment except the sofa pillows.]

COMTESSE [noticing JOHN'S big sigh of relief]. So THAT is all right,
Mr. Shand!

MAGGIE. Don't you love her any more, John? Be practical.

SYBIL [to the pillows]. At any rate I have tired of him. Oh, best to
tell the horrid truth. I am ashamed of myself. I have been crying my
eyes out over it--I thought I was such a different kind of woman. But
I am weary of him. I think him--oh, so dull.

JOHN [his face lighting up]. Are you sure that is how you have come
to think of me?

SYBIL. I'm sorry; [with all her soul] but yes--yes--yes.

JOHN. By God, it's more than I deserve.

COMTESSE. Congratulations to you both.

[SYBIL runs away; and in the fulness of time she married successfully
in cloth of silver, which was afterwards turned into a bed-spread.]

MAGGIE. You haven't read my letter yet, John, have you?

JOHN. No.