LITMIR.BIZ

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I see. Well, it ain't known to Builder, J.P., either. That's why there's a message. See?

      ANNIE. Oh! yes, Sir.

      TOPPING. Keep your head. I must hop it. From Miss Maud Builder. "Look out! Father is coming."

      He nods, turns and goes, pulling the door to behind him. ANNIE stands "baff" for a moment.

      ANNIE. Ah!

      She goes across to the bedroom on the Right, and soon returns with a suit of pyjamas, a toothbrush, a pair of slippers and a case of razors, which she puts on the table, and disappears into the kitchen. She reappears with a bread pan, which she deposits in the centre of the room; then crosses again to the bedroom, and once more reappears with a clothes brush, two hair brushes, and a Norfolk jacket. As she stuffs all these into the bread pan and bears it back into the kitchen, there is the sound of a car driving up and stopping. ANNIE reappears at the kitchen door just as the knocker sounds.

      ANNIE. Vexin' and provokin'! [Knocker again. She opens the door] Oh!

      MR and MRS BUILDER enter.

      BUILDER. Mr and Mrs Builder. My daughter in?

      ANNIE. [Confounded] Oh! Sir, no, sir.

      BUILDER. My good girl, not "Oh! Sir, no, sir." Simply: No, Sir. See?

      ANNIE. Oh! Sir, yes, Sir.

      BUILDER. Where is she?

      ANNIE. Oh! Sir, I don't know, Sir.

      BUILDER. [Fixing her as though he suspected her of banter] Will she be back soon?

      ANNIE. No, Sir.

      BUILDER. How do you know?

      ANNIE. I d—don't, sir.

      BUILDER. They why do you say so? [About to mutter "She's an idiot!" he looks at her blushing face and panting figure, pats her on the shoulder and says] Never mind; don't be nervous.

      ANNIE. Oh! yes, sir. Is that all, please, sir?

      MRS BUILDER. [With a side look at her husband and a faint smile] Yes; you can go.

      ANNIE. Thank you, ma'am.

      She turns and hurries out into the kitchen, Left. BUILDER gazes after her, and MRS BUILDER gazes at BUILDER with her faint smile.

      BUILDER. [After the girl is gone] Quaint and Dutch—pretty little figure! [Staring round] H'm! Extraordinary girls are! Fancy Athene preferring this to home. What?

      MRS BUILDER. I didn't say anything.

      BUILDER. [Placing a chair for his wife, and sitting down himself] Well, we must wait, I suppose. Confound that Nixon legacy! If Athene hadn't had that potty little legacy left her, she couldn't have done this. Well, I daresay it's all spent by now. I made a mistake to lose my temper with her.

      MRS BUILDER. Isn't it always a mistake to lose one's temper?

      BUILDER. That's very nice and placid; sort of thing you women who live sheltered lives can say. I often wonder if you women realise the strain on a business man.

      MRS BUILDER. [In her softly ironical voice] It seems a shame to add the strain of family life.

      BUILDER. You've always been so passive. When I want a thing, I've got to have it.

      MRS BUILDER. I've noticed that.

      BUILDER. [With a short laugh] Odd if you hadn't, in twenty-three years. [Touching a canvas standing against the chair with his toe] Art! Just a pretext. We shall be having Maud wanting to cut loose next. She's very restive. Still, I oughtn't to have had that scene with Athene. I ought to have put quiet pressure.

      MRS BUILDER Smiles.

      BUILDER. What are you smiling at?

      MRS BUILDER shrugs her shoulders.

      Look at this—Cigarettes! [He examines the brand on the box] Strong, very—and not good! [He opens the door] Kitchen! [He shuts it, crosses, and opens the door, Right] Bedroom!

      MRS BUILDER. [To his disappearing form] Do you think you ought, John?

      He has disappeared, and she ends with an expressive movement of her hands, a long sigh, and a closing of her eyes. BUILDER'S peremptory voice is heard: "Julia!"

      What now?

      She follows into the bedroom. The maid ANNIE puts her head out of the kitchen door; she comes out a step as if to fly; then, at BUILDER'S voice, shrinks back into the kitchen.

      BUILDER, reappearing with a razor strop in one hand and a shaving-brush in the other, is followed by MRS BUILDER.

      BUILDER. Explain these! My God! Where's that girl?

      MRS BUILDER. John! Don't! [Getting between him and the kitchen door] It's not dignified.

      BUILDER. I don't care a damn.

      MRS BUILDER. John, you mustn't. Athene has the tiny beginning of a moustache, you know.

      BUILDER. What! I shall stay and clear this up if I have to wait a week. Men who let their daughters—! This age is the limit. [He makes a vicious movement with the strop, as though laying it across someone's back.]

      MRS BUILDER. She would never stand that. Even wives object, nowadays.

      BUILDER. [Grimly] The war's upset everything. Women are utterly out of hand. Why the deuce doesn't she come?

      MRS BUILDER. Suppose you leave me here to see her.

      BUILDER. [Ominously] This is my job.

      MRS BUILDER. I think it's more mine.

      BUILDER. Don't stand there opposing everything I say! I'll go and have another look—[He is going towards the bedroom when the sound of a latchkey in the outer door arrests him. He puts the strop and brush behind his back, and adds in a low voice] Here she is!

      MRS BUILDER has approached him, and they have both turned towards the opening door. GUY HERRINGHAME comes in. They are a little out of his line of sight, and he has shut the door before he sees them. When he does, his mouth falls open, and his hand on to the knob of the door. He is a comely young man in Harris tweeds. Moreover, he is smoking. He would speak if he could, but his surprise is too excessive. BUILDER. Well, sir?

      GUY. [Recovering a little] I was about to say the same to you, sir.

      BUILDER. [Very red from repression] These rooms are not yours, are they?

      GUY. Nor yours, sir?

      BUILDER. May I ask if you know whose they are?

      GUY. My sister's.

      BUILDER. Your—you—!

      MRS BUILDER. John!

      BUILDER. Will you kindly tell me why your sister signs her drawings by the name of my daughter, Athene Builder—and has a photograph of my wife hanging there?

      The YOUNG MAN looks at MRS BUILDER and winces, but recovers himself.

      GUY. [Boldly] As a matter of fact this is my sister's studio; she's in France—and has a friend staying here.

      BUILDER. Oh! And you have a key?

      GUY. My sister's.

      BUILDER. Does your sister shave?

      GUY. I—I don't think so.

      BUILDER. No. Then perhaps you'll tell me what these mean? [He takes out the strop and shaving stick].

      GUY. Oh! Ah! Those things?

      BUILDER. Yes. Now then?

      GUY. [Addressing MRS BUILDER] Need we go into this in your presence, ma'am? It seems rather delicate.

      BUILDER. What explanation have you got?

      GUY. Well, you see—

      BUILDER. No lies; out with it!

      GUY. [With decision] I prefer to say nothing.

      BUILDER. What's your name?

      GUY. Guy Herringhame.

      BUILDER. Do you live here?

      Guy

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