“And your charming husband,” Jessica continued. “How he flirted with that odious woman——” she paused.
“Mrs. Colonel Matcham,” said Mrs. Arbuthnot obligingly.
“That’s the one,” said Jessica. “Brazen piece she was. How is he?”
Mrs. Arbuthnot, whose curiously practical mind saw no sense in beating about the bush, said he was killed. Up-country, she added, politely wishing to minimize her misfortune.
“My dear,” said Jessica, the country girl part of her horrified at her indiscreet question. But luckily the actress got the upper hand almost at once; the quick and quite real sympathy, the feeling that every play even one of Mr. Bernard Shaw’s must come to an end, the facing of the facts of private life and subordinating them to being a servant of the public. Her genuine sorrow and sympathy w
