Ive turned many
a girl out of the shop for being half an hour late at night; and heres
my own daughter gone for a fortnight without word or sign, except a
telegram to say shes not dead and that we're not to worry about her.
MRS KNOX. [suddenly pointing to the street] Jo, look!
KNOX. Margaret! With a man!
MRS KNOX. Run down, Jo, quick. Catch her: save her.
KNOX. [lingering] Shes shaking bands with him: shes coming across
to the door.
MRS KNOX. [energetically] Do as I tell you. Catch the man before
hes out of sight.
_Knox rushes from the room. Mrs Knox looks anxiously and excitedly
from the window. Then she throws up the sash and leans out. Margaret
Knox comes in, flustered and annoyed. She is a strong, springy girl
of eighteen, with large nostrils, an audacious chin, and a gaily
resolute manner, even peremptory on occasions like the present, when
she is annoyed._
MARGARET. Mother. Mother.
_Mrs Knox draws in her head and confronts her daughter._
MRS KNOX. [sternly] Well, miss?
MARGARET. Oh, mother, do go out and stop father making a scene in the
street. He rushed at him and said "Youre the man who took away my
daughter" loud enough for all the people to hear. Everybody stopped.
We shall have a crowd round the house. Do do something to stop him.
_Knox returns with a good-looking young marine officer._
MARGARET. Oh, Monsieur Duvallet, I'm so sorry--so ashamed. Mother:
this is Monsieur Duvallet, who has been extremely kind to me.
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