ou
think the Rev. Phillimore expected to find _here_?

FIDDLER. [_Proud of having the knowledge._] Mrs. Karslake? I saw her
headed this way in a hansom with a balky horse only a minute ago. If
she hoped to be in at the finish--

[Fiddler _is about to set the chair on its legs._

NOGAM. [_Quickly._] Mr. Fiddler, sir, please to let it alone.

FIDDLER. [_Putting the chair down in surprise._] Does it live on its
blooming head?

NOGAM. Don't you remember? _She_ threw it on its head when she left
here, and he won't have it up. Ah, that's it--hat, sewing-basket and
all,--the whole rig is to remain as it was when she handed him his
knock-out. [_A bell rings outside._

FIDDLER. There's the guv'nor--I hear him!

NOGAM. I'll serve the supper. [_Taking a letter from his pocket and
putting it on the mantel._] Mr. Fiddler, would you mind giving this to
the guv'nor? It's from his lawyer--his lawyer couldn't find him and
left it with me. He said it was very important. [_The bell rings
again. Speaking from the door to_ SIR WILFRID.] I'm coming, sir!

NOGAM _goes out, shutting the door._ JOHN KARSLAKE _comes in.
His hat is pushed over his eyes; his hands are buried in his
pockets, and his appearance generally is one of weariness and
utter discouragement. He walks into the room slowly and
heavily. He sees_ FIDDLER, _who salutes, forgetting the
letter._ JOHN _slowly sinks into the arm-chair near his study
table._

JOHN. [_As he walks to his chair._] Hello, Fiddler! [_After a pause,_
JOHN _throws himself into a chair, keeping his hat on. He throws down
his gloves, sighing._

FIDDLER. Came in to see you, sir, about Cynthia K.

JOHN. [_Drearily._] Damn Cynthia K!--

FIDDLER. Couldn't have a word with you?

JOHN. [_Grumpy._] No!

FIDDLER. Yes, sir.

JOHN. Fiddler.

FIDDLER. Yes, sir.

JOHN. Mrs. Karslake-- [FIDDLER _nods._] You used to say she was our
mascot?

FIDDLER. Yes, sir.

JOHN. Well, she's just married herself to a--a sort of a man--

FIDDLER. Sorry to hear it, sir.

JOHN. Well, Fiddler, between you and me, we're a pair of idiots.

FIDDLER. Yes, sir!

JOHN. And now it's too late!

FIDDLER. Yes, sir--oh, beg your pardon, sir--your lawyer left a
letter. [JOHN _takes letter; opens it and reads it, indifferently at
first._

JOHN. [_As he opens the letter._] What's he got to say, more than what
his wire said?--Eh-- [_Dumbfounded as he reads._] what?--Will
explain.-