LITMIR.BIZ

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the drawing-room. Left alone without the roses, FREDA still lingers. At the slamming of a door above, and hasty footsteps, she shrinks back against the stairs. BILL runs down, and comes on her suddenly. He is a tall, good-looking edition of his father, with the same stubborn look of veiled choler.

      BILL. Freda! [And as she shrinks still further back] what's the matter? [Then at some sound he looks round uneasily and draws away from her] Aren't you glad to see me?

      FREDA. I've something to say to you, Mr. Bill. After dinner.

      BILL. Mister–?

      She passes him, and rushes away upstairs. And BILL, who stands frowning and looking after her, recovers himself sharply as the drawing-room door is opened, and SIR WILLIAM and MISS LANFARNE come forth, followed by KEITH, DOT, HAROLD, CHRISTINE, LATTER, and JOAN, all leaning across each other, and talking. By herself, behind them, comes LADY CHESHIRE, a refined-looking woman of fifty, with silvery dark hair, and an expression at once gentle, and ironic. They move across the hall towards the dining-room.

      SIR WILLIAM. Ah! Bill.

      MABEL. How do you do?

      KEITH. How are you, old chap?

      DOT. [gloomily] Do you know your part?

      HAROLD. Hallo, old man!

      CHRISTINE gives her brother a flying kiss. JOAN and LATTER pause and look at him shyly without speech.

      BILL. [Putting his hand on JOAN's shoulder] Good luck, you two! Well mother?

      LADY CHESHIRE. Well, my dear boy! Nice to see you at last. What a long time!

      She draws his arm through hers, and they move towards the dining-room.

      The curtain falls.

      The curtain rises again at once.

      SCENE II

      CHRISTINE, LADY CHESHIRE, DOT, MABEL LANFARNE, and JOAN, are returning to the hall after dinner.

      CHRISTINE. [in a low voice] Mother, is it true about young Dunning and Rose Taylor?

      LADY CHESHIRE. I'm afraid so, dear.

      CHRISTINE. But can't they be–

      DOT. Ah! ah-h! [CHRISTINE and her mother are silent.] My child, I'm not the young person.

      CHRISTINE. No, of course not—only—[nodding towards JOAN and Mable].

      DOT. Look here! This is just an instance of what I hate.

      LADY CHESHIRE. My dear? Another one?

      DOT. Yes, mother, and don't you pretend you don't understand, because you know you do.

      CHRISTINE. Instance? Of what?

      JOAN and MABEL have ceased talking, and listen, still at the fire.

      DOT. Humbug, of course. Why should you want them to marry, if he's tired of her?

      CHRISTINE. [Ironically] Well! If your imagination doesn't carry you as far as that!

      DOT. When people marry, do you believe they ought to be in love with each other?

      CHRISTINE. [With a shrug] That's not the point.

      DOT. Oh? Were you in love with Ronny?

      CHRISTINE. Don't be idiotic!

      DOT. Would you have married him if you hadn't been?

      CHRISTINE. Of course not!

      JOAN. Dot! You are!–

      DOT. Hallo! my little snipe!

      LADY CHESHIRE. Dot, dear!

      DOT. Don't shut me up, mother! [To JOAN.] Are you in love with John? [JOAN turns hurriedly to the fire.] Would you be going to marry him if you were not?

      CHRISTINE. You are a brute, Dot.

      DOT. Is Mabel in love with—whoever she is in love with?

      MABEL. And I wonder who that is.

      DOT. Well, would you marry him if you weren't?

      MABEL. No, I would not.

      DOT. Now, mother; did you love father?

      CHRISTINE. Dot, you really are awful.

      DOT. [Rueful and detached] Well, it is a bit too thick, perhaps.

      JOAN. Dot!

      DOT. Well, mother, did you—I mean quite calmly?

      LADY CHESHIRE. Yes, dear, quite calmly.

      DOT. Would you have married him if you hadn't? [LADY CHESHIRE shakes her head] Then we're all agreed!

      MABEL. Except yourself.

      DOT. [Grimly] Even if I loved him, he might think himself lucky if I married him.

      MABEL. Indeed, and I'm not so sure.

      DOT. [Making a face at her] What I was going to–

      LADY CHESHIRE. But don't you think, dear, you'd better not?

      DOT. Well, I won't say what I was going to say, but what I do say is—Why the devil–

      LADY CHESHIRE. Quite so, Dot!

      DOT. [A little disconcerted.] If they're tired of each other, they ought not to marry, and if father's going to make them–

      CHRISTINE. You don't understand in the least. It's for the sake of the–

      DOT. Out with it, Old Sweetness! The approaching infant! God bless it!

      There is a sudden silence, for KEITH and LATTER are seen coming from the dining-room.

      LATTER. That must be so, Ronny.

      KEITH. No, John; not a bit of it!

      LATTER. You don't think!

      KEITH. Good Gad, who wants to think after dinner!

      DOT. Come on! Let's play pool. [She turns at the billiard-room door.] Look here! Rehearsal to-morrow is directly after breakfast; from "Eccles enters breathless" to the end.

      MABEL. Whatever made you choose "Caste," DOT? You know it's awfully difficult.

      DOT. Because it's the only play that's not too advanced. [The girls all go into the billiard-room.]

      LADY CHESHIRE. Where's Bill, Ronny?

      KEITH. [With a grimace] I rather think Sir William and he are in Committee of Supply—Mem-Sahib.

      LADY CHESHIRE. Oh!

      She looks uneasily at the dining-room; then follows the girls out.

      LATTER. [In the tone of one resuming an argument] There can't be two opinions about it, Ronny. Young Dunning's refusal is simply indefensible.

      KEITH. I don't agree a bit, John.

      LATTER. Of course, if you won't listen.

      KEITH. [Clipping a cigar] Draw it mild, my dear chap. We've had the whole thing over twice at least.

      LATTER. My point is this–

      KEITH. [Regarding LATTER quizzically with his halfclosed eyes] I know—I know—but the point is, how far your point is simply professional.

      LATTER. If a man wrongs a woman, he ought to right her again. There's no answer to that.

      KEITH. It all depends.

      LATTER. That's rank opportunism.

      KEITH. Rats! Look here—Oh! hang it, John, one can't argue this out with a parson.

      LATTER. [Frigidly] Why not?

      HAROLD. [Who has entered from the dining-room] Pull devil, pull baker!

      KEITH. Shut up, Harold!

      LATTER. "To play the game" is the religion even of the Army.

      KEITH. Exactly, but what is the game?

      LATTER. What else can it be in this case?

      KEITH. You're too puritanical, young John. You can't help it—line of country laid down for you. All drag-huntin'!

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