think of myself. They are overhead, Ginevra. There is an awful scene
taking place--up there. She is telling father all.'

GINEVRA. 'Confessing?'

AMY. 'Everything--in a noble attempt to save me from a widowed
marriage.'

GINEVRA. 'But I thought she was such a hard woman.'

AMY. 'Not really. To the world perhaps; but I have softened her. All
she needed, Ginevra, to bring out her finer qualities was a strong
nature to lean upon; and she says that she has found it in me. At the
theatre and all the way home--'

GINEVRA. 'Then you did go to the theatre. Why?'

AMY, feeling that Ginevra is very young, 'Need you ask? Oh, Ginevra,
to see if we could find a happy ending. It was mother's idea.'

GINEVRA. 'Which theatre?'

AMY. 'I don't know, but the erring wife confessed all--in one of those
mousselines de soie that are so fashionable this year; and mother and
I sat--clasping each other's hands, praying it might end happily,
though we didn't see how it could.'

GINEVRA. 'How awful for you. What did the husband do?'

AMY. 'He was very calm and white. He went out of the room for a