The Misses Wetherell whisper together--look round cautiously, steal
up behind him, encouraging one another.
THE ELDER MISS WETHERELL. She's so young.
THE YOUNGER MISS WETHERELL. And so adaptable.
VERNON [he is sitting, bowed down, with his face in his hands]. Ah,
it was the deception.
THE YOUNGER MISS WETHERELL [she puts her old thin hand on his
shoulder]. What would you have done, dear, if she had told you--at
first?
VERNON [he takes her hand in his--answers a little brokenly]. I
don't know.
THE ELDER MISS WETHERELL. There's something we wanted to tell you.
[He looks at her. They look across at each other.] The first Lady
Bantock, your great-grandmamma -
THE YOUNGER MISS WETHERELL. She danced with George III.
THE ELDER MISS WETHERELL. She was a butcher's daughter.
THE YOUNGER MISS WETHERELL. He was quite a little butcher.
THE ELDER MISS WETHERELL. Of course, as a rule, dear, we never
mention it.
THE YOUNGER MISS WETHERELL. We felt you ought to know. [They take
each other's hands; on tip-toe they steal out. They close the door
softly behind them.]
Vernon rises. He looks at the portrait--draws nearer to it. With
his hands in his pockets, stops dead in front of it, and contemplates
it in silence. The door of the dressing-room opens. Fanny enters.
She is dressed for going out. She stands for a moment, the door in
her hand. Vernon turns. She closes the door and comes forward.
VERNON.
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