]
MRS. BARTHWICK. Mr. Roper, don't you think the magistrate ought to
be told what sort of people these Jones's are; I mean about their
immorality before they were married. I don't know if John told you.
ROPER. Afraid it's not material.
MRS. BARTHWICK. Not material?
ROPER. Purely private life! May have happened to the magistrate.
BARTHWICK. [With a movement as if to shift a burden.] Then you'll
take the thing into your hands?
ROPER. If the gods are kind. [He holds his hand out.]
BARTHWICK. [Shaking it dubiously.] Kind eh? What? You going?
ROPER. Yes. I've another case, something like yours--most
unexpected.
[He bows to MRS. BARTHWICK, and goes out, followed by
BARTHWICK, talking to the last. MRS. BARTHWICK at the table
bursts into smothered sobs. BARTHWICK returns.]
BARTHWICK. [To himself.] There'll be a scandal!
MRS. BARTHWICK. [Disguising her grief at once.] I simply can't
imagine what Roper means by making a joke of a thing like that!
BARTHWICK. [Staring strangely.] You! You can't imagine anything!
You've no more imagination than a fly!
MRS. BARTHWICK. [Angrily.] You dare to tell me that I have no
imagination.
BARTHWICK. [Flustered.
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