You've treated my poor dear badly, sir. Where's your heart?
MORE. In full use.
NURSE. On those heathens. Don't your own hearth and home come
first? Your wife, that was born in time of war, with her own father
fighting, and her grandfather killed for his country. A bitter
thing, to have the windows of her house broken, and be pointed at by
the boys in the street.
[MORE stands silent under this attack, looking at his wife.]
KATHERINE. Nurse!
NURSE. It's unnatural, sir--what you're doing! To think more of
those savages than of your own wife! Look at her! Did you ever see
her look like that? Take care, sir, before it's too late!
MORE. Enough, please!
NURSE stands for a moment doubtful; looks long at KATHERINE;
then goes.
MORE. [Quietly] There has been a victory.
[He goes out. KATHERINE is breathing fast, listening to the
distant hum and stir rising in the street. She runs to the
window as the footman, HENRY, entering, says: "Sir John Julian,
Ma'am!" SIR JOHN comes in, a newspaper in his hand.]
KATHERINE. At last! A victory!
SIR JOHN. Thank God! [He hands her the paper.]
KATHERINE. Oh, Dad!
[She tears the paper open, and feverishly reads.]
KATHERINE. At last!
The distant hum in the street is rising steadily. But SIR JOHN,
after the one exultant moment when he handed her the paper,
stares dumbly at the floor.
KATHERINE. [Suddenly conscious of his gravity] Father!
SIR JOHN.
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