nce. The people who are not used to third acts are wondering
what it is all about. The real playgoers know that this is _atmosphere_.

Then presently----

"Tea?" says Mrs. Harding, "shall I ring?"

"Pray do," says Sir John. He seats himself with great weariness. The
full melancholy of the third act is on him. The tea which has been made
for three acts is brought in. They drink it and it begins to go to their
heads. The "atmosphere" clears off just a little.

"You have news, I know," says Mrs. Harding, "you have seen him?"

"I have seen him."

"And he is gone?"

"Yes, he has sailed," says Sir John. "He went on board last night, only
a few hours after my return to London. I saw him off. Poor Jack.
Gatherson has been most kind. They will take him into the embassy at
Lima. There, please God, he can begin life again. The Peruvian
Ambassador has promised to do all in his power."

Sir John sighs deeply and is silent. This to let the fact soak into the
audience that Jack has gone to Peru. Any reasonable person would have
known it. Where else could he go to?

"He will do well in Peru," says Mrs. Harding. She is imitating a woman
being very brave.

"Yes, I trust so," says Sir John. There is silence again. In fact the
whole third act is diluted with thirty per cent. of silence. Presently
Mrs. Harding speaks again in a low tone.

"You have other news, I know."

"I have other news."

"Of her?"

"Yes. I have been to Switzerland. I have seen the cure--a good man. He
has told me all there is to tell. I found him at the hospice, busy with
his _oeuvre de bienfaisance_. He led me to her grave."

Sir John is bowed in deep silence.

Lady Cicely dead! Everybody in the theater gasps. Dead! But what an
unfair way to kill her! To face an open death on the stage in fair hand
to hand acting is one thing, but this new system of dragging off the
characters to Switzerland between the acts, and then returning and
saying that they are dead is quite another.

Presently Mrs. Harding speaks, very softly. "And you? You will take up
your work here again?"

"No; I am going away."

"Going?"

"Yes, far away. I am going to Kafoonistan."

Mrs. Harding looks at him in pain. "To Kafoonistan?"

"Yes. To Kafoonistan. There's work there for me to do."

. . . . . . .

There is silence again. Then Sir John speaks. "And you? You will settle
down here in London?"

"No. I am going away."

"Going away?"

"Yes, back to Balla Walla. I w