_Eve._ Pardon! My mother--my gentle-hearted mother. There is no thought in my mind but of the perfect woman of the past eighteen years. The luster of those years fills my world. I can see nothing else; I will see nothing else. As you have always been to me, so shall you always be--the type of gentle charity, tender helpfulness, brave, large-hearted womanly sympathy. When the bright light of those bygone years pales in my eyes, then let me suffer ten times the sorrow of to-day, for indeed I shall have deserved it. (_She rises and they embrace._)
_Fitz._ Yes, but don’t be alarmed. If it is open to a person in my debased position to be regarded as a friend, regard me as one.
_Mrs. V. B._ Mr. Fitz Partington, I did you an injustice when I saw you last--I doubted you. Will you forgive me? (_Holding out her hand._)
_Fitz._ (_much affected, takes it_). Ma’am, this is the most unprofessional moment of my career. No one ever apologized to me before. It is very unmanning. It is like having a tooth out. I hope no one will ever apologize to me again.
_Eve._ Have you brought us any news, Mr. Fitz Partington? I am sure you are here for some kind purpose.
_Fitz._ It is my fate to appear continually before you in the character of the Mysterious Warner of penny romance. Mrs. Van Brugh, once more, beware of Smailey. That abject man is going at you again.
_Mrs. V. B._ Has he not done with me yet? Can I be poorer than I am--or more unhappy--or more despised?
_Fitz._ He proposes to make you so, but he will be sold.
_Eve._ But with what motive does he do this?
_Fitz._ Revenge. To adapt the words of the poet to Smailey’s frame of mind, “Revenge is sweet, especially on women.”
_Mrs. V. B._ Revenge on _me_! Through him, whom I have never injured, I have lost my home, my fortune, and my good name, and _he_ seeks revenge on _me_?
_Fitz._ Mrs. Van Brugh, if it is a source of pain to you to know that your friends have cut _you_, it may console you to know, that in their strict impartiality they have also cut _him_. He is hooted in the streets. His windows are a public cockshy. Nobody is at home to him, and though he is at home to everybody, it is to no purpose. The very tradesmen refuse to supply him. He is a desolate, and a hungry being, and nobody calls on him except the taxes.