The Fugitive

PAYNTER. She and the Governor don't hit it! One of these days she'll flit--you'll see. I like her--she's a lady; but these thoroughbred 'uns--it's their skin and their mouths. They'll go till they drop if they like the job, and if they don't, it's nothing but jib--jib--jib. How was it down there before she married him?

BURNEY. Oh! Quiet, of course.

PAYNTER. Country homes--I know 'em. What's her father, the old Rector, like?

BURNEY. Oh! very steady old man. The mother dead long before I took the place.

PAYNTER. Not a penny, I suppose?

BURNEY. [Shaking her head] No; and seven of them.

PAYNTER. [At sound of the hall door] The Governor!

BURNEY withdraws through the curtained door.

GEORGE DEDMOND enters from the hall. He is in evening dress, opera hat, and overcoat; his face is broad, comely, glossily shaved, but with neat moustaches. His eyes, clear, small, and blue-grey, have little speculation. His hair is well brushed.

GEORGE.