t passed between me
and your mother, you wouldnt undo it; and neither would she. But
youre sick of your slavery; and you want to be the hero of a romance
and to get into the papers. Eh? A son revenges his mother's shame.
Villain weltering in his gore. Mother: look down from heaven and
receive your unhappy son's last sigh.

THE MAN. Oh, rot! do you think I read novelettes? And do you suppose
I believe such superstitions as heaven? I go to church because the
boss told me I'd get the sack if I didnt. Free England! Ha! _[Lina
appears at the pavilion door, and comes swiftly and noiselessly
forward on seeing the man with a pistol in his hand]._

TARLETON. Youre afraid of getting the sack; but youre not afraid to
shoot yourself.

THE MAN. Damn you! youre trying to keep me talking until somebody
comes. _[He raises the pistol desperately, but not very resolutely]._

LINA. _[at his right elbow]_ Somebody has come.

THE MAN _[turning on her]_ Stand off. I'll shoot you if you lay a
hand on me. I will, by God.

LINA. You cant cover me with that pistol. Try.

_He tries, presenting the pistol at her face. She moves round him in
the opposite direction to the hands of a clock with a light dancing
step. He finds it impossible to cover her with the pistol: she is
always too far to his left. Tarleton, behind him, grips his wrist and
drags his arm straight up, so that the pistol points to the ceiling.
As he tries to turn on his assailant, Lina grips his other wrist._

LINA. Please stop. I cant bear to twist anyone's wrist; but I must
if you dont let the pistol go.

THE MAN. _[letting Tarleton take it from him]_ All right: I'm done.
Couldnt even do that job decently. Thats a clerk all over. Very
well: send for your damned police and make an end of it. I'm
accustomed to prison from nine to six: I daresay I can stand it from
six to nine as well.

TARLETON. Dont swear. Thats a lady. _[He throws the pistol on the
writing table]._

THE MAN. _[looking at Lina in amazement]_ Beaten by a female! It
needed only this. _[He collapses in the chair near the worktable, and
hides his face. They cannot help pitying him]._

LINA. Old pal: dont call the police. Lend him a bicycle and let him
get away.

THE MAN. I cant ride a bicycle. I never could afford one. I'm not
even that much good.

TARLETON. If I gave you a hundred pound note now to go and have a
good spree with, I wonder would you kn