Page:The great Galeoto; Folly or saintliness; two plays done from the verse of José Echegaray into English prose by Hannah Lynch (IA greatgaleotofoll00echerich).djvu/80

 SCENE II

Don Julian and Don Severo.

. [Looking round.] How modest!

. Poor is a better word.

. What a lodging! [Opens the door and peeps in.] An alcove, this study, and an outer room—and that's all.

. And thereby hangs the devil's own tale of human ingratitude, of bastard sentiment, of miserable passions, and of blackguard calumny. And whether you tell it quickly or at length, there's never an end to it.

. It is the work of chance.

. Not so, my dear fellow. It was the work of—well, I know whom.

. Meaning me?

. Yes, you as well. And before you the empty-pated idlers whom it behoved to busy themselves shamelessly about my honour and my wife's. And I, coward, mean, and jealous, I let the poor fellow go, despite my evidence of his upright nature. I responded to his nobler conduct by black ingratitude. Yes, ingratitude. You see my ostentatious wealth, the luxury of my surroundings and equipages, and the credit of my firm. Well, do you know where all that comes from?

. I have quite forgotten.

. Justly said,—forgotten! Such is the natural reward of every generous action, of every unusual impulse that prompts one man to help another quietly, without a flourish of trumpet or self-advertisement—just for friendship's or for honesty's sake.

. You are unjust to yourself. To such an excess have you pushed gratitude, that you have almost sacrificed 40