further off. Harry follows. Both stop_.)

Harry (_After waiting_). What about this tomorrow whim?

Bessie. Leave that to me. Of course all his fancies are not mad. They
aren't. (_Pause_.) Most people in this town would think what he had
set his mind on quite sensible. If he ever talks to you of it, don't
contradict him. It would--it would be dangerous.

Harry (_Surprised_). What would he do?

Bessie. He would--I don't know--something rash.

Harry (_Startled_). To himself?

Bessie. No. It'd be against you--I fear.

Harry (_Sullen_). Let him.

Bessie. Never. Don't quarrel. But perhaps he won't even try to talk to
you of it. (_Thinking aloud_.) Who knows what I can do with him in a
week! I can, I can, I can--I must.

Harry. Come--what's this sensible notion of his that I mustn't quarrel
about?

Bessie (_Turns to Harry, calm, forcible_). If I make him once see that
you've come back, he will be as sane as you or I. All his mad notions
will be gone. But that other is quite sensible. And you mustn't quarrel
over it.