TRANTO (shaking his head). You musn't tell me that, Miss Hilda. Of course it was you that did it.

HILDEGARDE (impatiently; standing up). But I do tell you.

TRANTO. Sorry! Sorry! Do be merciful! My feelings about you at this very moment are so, if I may use the term, unbridled—

HILDEGARDE (with false gentle calm). And that's not all. I suppose you haven't by any chance told father that I'm Sampson Straight?

TRANTO. Certainly not.

HILDEGARDE. You're sure?

TRANTO. Absolutely.

HILDEGARDE. Well, I'm sorry.

TRANTO. Why?

HILDEGARDE (quietly sarcastic). Because papa told me you did tell him. Therefore father is a liar. I don't like being the daughter of a liar. I hate liars.

TRANTO. Aren't you rather cutting yourself off from mankind?

HILDEGARDE (going straight on). For the last day or two father had been giving me such queer little digs every now and then that I began to suspect he knew who Sampson Straight was. So I asked him right out this morning—he was in bed—and he had to acknowledge he did know and that you told him.

TRANTO. Well, I didn't exactly tell him. He sort of guessed, and I—

HILDEGARDE (calmly, relentlessly). You told him.

TRANTO. No. I merely admitted it. You think I ought to have denied it?

HILDEGARDE. Of course you ought to have denied it.

TRANTO. But it was true.

HILDEGARDE. And if it was?

TRANTO. If it was true, how could I deny it? You've just said you hate liars.

HILDEGARDE (losing self-control). Please don't be absurd.

TRANTO (a little nettled). I apologise.

HILDEGARDE. What for?

TRANTO. For having put you in the wrong. It's such shocking bad diplomacy for any man to put any woman in the wrong.

HILDEGARDE (angrily). Man—woman! Man—woman! There you are! It's always the same with you males. Sex! Sex! Sex!

TRANTO (quite conquering his annoyance; persuasively). But I'm fatally in love with you. HILDEGARDE. Well, of course there you have the advantage of me.

TRANTO. Don't you care a little—

HILDEGARDE (letting herself go). Why should I care? What have I done to make you imagine I care? It's quite true that I've saved your newspaper from an early grave. It was suffering from rickets, spinal curvature, and softening of the brain; and I've performed a miraculous cure on it with my articles. I'm Sampson Straight. But that's not enough for you. You can't keep sentiment out of business. No man ever could. You'd like Sampson Straight to wear blouses and bracelets for you, and loll on sofas for you, and generally offer you the glad eye. It's an insult. And then on the top of all, you go and give the whole show away to papa, in spite of our understanding; and if papa hadn't been the greatest dear in the world you might have got me into the most serious difficulties.

TRANTO (equably, after a pause), I don't think I'll ask myself to stay for lunch.

HILDEGARDE. Good morning.

TRANTO (near the door). I suppose I'd better announce that he's died very suddenly under mysterious circumstances?

HILDEGARDE. Who?

TRANTO. Sampson Straight.

HILDEGARDE. And what about my new article, that you've got in hand?

TRANTO. It can be a posthumous article, in a black border.

HILDEGARDE. Indeed! And why shouldn't Sampson Straight transfer his services to another paper? There are several who'd jump at him.

TRANTO. I never thought of that.

HILDEGARDE. Naturally!

TRANTO. He shall live.

(A pause. Tranto bows, and exit, back.)

(Hildegarde subsides once more on to the sofa.)

Enter Culver, in his velvet coat, L.

CULVER (softly, with sprightliness). Hello, Sampson!

HILDEGARDE. Dad, please don't call me that.

CULVER. Not when we're alone? Why?

HILDEGARDE. I—I—Dad, I'm in a fearful state of nerves just now. Lost my temper and all sorts of calamities.

CULVER. Really! I'd no idea. I gathered that the interview between you and your mother had passed quite smoothly.

HILDEGARDE. Oh! That!

CULVER. What do you mean—'Oh! That!'?

HILDEGARDE (standing; in a new, less gloomy tone). Papa, what are you doing out of bed? You're very ill.

CULVER. Well, I'd managed to dress before your mother and Johnnie came. As soon as they imparted to me the glad tidings that baronetcies were off I felt so well I decided to come down and thank you for your successful efforts on behalf of the family well-being. I'm no longer your father. I'm your brother.

HILDEGARDE. It was Johnnie did it.

CULVER. It wasn't—I know.

HILDEGARDE (exasperated). I say it was! (Apologetically). So sorry, dad. (Kisses him). Where are they, those two? (Sits). CULVER. Mother and John? Don't know. I fancy somebody called as I came down.

HILDEGARDE. Called! Before lunch! Who was it?

CULVER. Haven't the faintest.

Enter John, back.

JOHN (proudly). I say, good people! New acquaintance of mine! Just looked in. Met him at the Automobile this morning with Skewes. I was sure you'd all give your heads to see the old chap, so I asked him to lunch on the chance. Dashed if he didn't accept! You see we'd been talking a bit about politics. He's the most celebrated man in London. I doubt if there's a fellow I admire more in the whole world—or you either. He's knocked the mater flat already. Between ourselves, I really asked him because I thought he might influence her on this baronetcy business. However, that's all off now. What are you staring at?

CULVER. We're only bursting with curiosity to hear the name of this paragon of yours. As a general rule I like to know beforehand whom I'm going to lunch with in my own house.

JOHN. It's Sampson Straight.

HILDEGARDE (springing up). Sampson Str—

CULVER (calmly). Keep your nerve, Hilda. Keep your nerve.

JOHN. I thought I wouldn't say anything till he'd actually arrived. He mightn't have come at all. Then what a fool I should have looked if I'd told you he was coming! Tranto himself doesn't know him. Tranto pooh-poohed the idea of me ever meeting him, Tranto did. Well, I've met him, and he's here. I haven't let on to him that I know Tranto. I'm going to bring them together and watch them both having the surprise of their lives.

CULVER. John, this is a great score for you. I admit I've never been more interested in meeting anyone. Never!

Enter Parlourmaid, back.

PARLOURMAID. Miss Starkey, sir.

CULVER (cheerfully). I'll see her soon. (Pulling himself up suddenly; in an alarmed, gloomy tone.) No, no! I can't possibly see her.

PARLOURMAID. Miss Starkey says there are several important letters, sir.

CULVER. No, no! I'm not equal to it.

HILDEGARDE (confidentially). What's wrong, dad?

CULVER (to Hildegarde). She'll give me notice the minute she knows she can't call me Sir Arthur. (Shudders.) I quail.

Enter Mrs. Culver and Sampson Straight, back.

(The Parlourmaid holds the door for them, and then exit.)

MRS. CULVER. This is my husband. Arthur, dear—Mr. Sampson Straight. And this is my little daughter. (Hilda bows, John surveys the scene with satisfaction.)

CULVER (recovering his equipoise; shaking hands heartily). Mr. Straight. Delighted to meet you. I simply cannot tell you how unexpected this pleasure is.

STRAIGHT. You're too kind.

CULVER (gaily). I doubt it. I doubt it.

STRAIGHT. I ought to apologise for coming in like this. But I've been so charmingly received by Mrs. Culver—

MRS. CULVER. You've been so charming about my boy, Mr. Straight. STRAIGHT. I was so very greatly impressed by your son this morning at the Club that I couldn't resist the opportunity he gave me of visiting his home. What I say is: like parents, like child. I'm an old-fashioned man.

MRS. CULVER. No one would guess that from your articles in The Echo. Of course they're frightfully clever, but you know I don't quite agree with all your opinions.

STRAIGHT. Neither do I. You see—there's always a difference between what one thinks and what one has to write.

MRS. CULVER. I'm so glad. (Culver starts and looks round.) What is it, Arthur?

CULVER. Nothing! I thought I heard the ice cracking. (Hildegarde begins to smile.)

STRAIGHT (looking at the floor; simply). Ice?

MRS. CULVER. Arthur!

STRAIGHT. It was still thawing when I came in. As I was saying, I'm an old-fashioned man. And I'm a provincial—and proud of it.

MRS. CULVER. But my dear Mr. Straight, really, if you'll excuse me, you look as if you never left the pavement of Piccadilly. CULVER. Say the windows of the Turf club, darling.

STRAIGHT (serenely). No. I live very, very quietly on my little place, and when I feel the need of contact with the great world I run over for the afternoon to—St. Ives.

MRS. CULVER. How remarkable! Then that explains how it is you're so deliciously unspoilt.

STRAIGHT. Do you mean my face?

MRS. CULVER. I meant you don't seem at all to realise that you're a very great celebrity in London; very great indeed. A lion of the first order.

STRAIGHT (simply). Lion?

CULVER. You're expected to roar, Mr. Straight.

STRAIGHT. Roar?

MRS. CULVER. It may interest you to know that my little daughter also writes articles in The Echo. Yes, about war cookery. But of course you wouldn't notice them. (Hildegarde moves away.) I'm afraid (apologetically) your mere presence is making her just a wee bit nervous. HILDEGARDE (from a distance, striving to control herself). Oh, Mr. Sampson Straight. There's one question I've been longing to ask you. I always ask it of literary lions—and tigers.

STRAIGHT. Tigers?

HILDEGARDE. Do you write best in the morning or do you burn the midnight oil?

STRAIGHT. Oil?

MRS. CULVER. Do sit down, Mr. Straight. (She goes imploringly to Hildegarde, who has lost control of herself and is getting a little hysterical with mirth. Aside to Hildegarde.) Hilda! (John, puzzled and threatening, also approaches Hildegarde.)

CULVER (sitting down by Straight.) And so, although you prefer a country life, the lure of London has been too strong for you in the end.

STRAIGHT. I came to town on business.

CULVER. Ah!

STRAIGHT. The fact is, business of the utmost importance. Perhaps I may be able to interest you in it.

CULVER. Now we're getting hotter.

STRAIGHT. Hotter?

CULVER. Go on, go on, Mr. Straight.

STRAIGHT. To tell you the truth—

CULVER. Always a wise thing to do.

STRAIGHT. One of my reasons for accepting your son's kind invitation was that I thought that conceivably you might be willing to help in a great patriotic scheme of mine. Naturally you show surprise.

CULVER. Do I? Then I'm expressing myself badly. I'm not in the least surprised. It is the contrary that would have surprised me.

STRAIGHT. We may possibly discuss it later.

CULVER. Later? Why later? Why not at once? I'm full of curiosity. I hate to let the grass grow under my feet.

STRAIGHT (looking at the floor). Grass? (With a faint mechanical laugh.) Ah yes, I see. Figure of speech. Well, I'm starting a little limited liability syndicate.

CULVER. Precisely what I thought. Yes?

STRAIGHT. The End-the-war Syndicate.

JOHN (approaching). But surely you aren't one of those pacifists, Mr. Straight! You've always preached fighting it out to a finish.

STRAIGHT. The object of my syndicate is certainly to fight to a finish, but to finish in about a week—by means of my little syndicate.

CULVER. Splendid! But there is one draw-back. New capital issues are forbidden under the Defence of the Realm Act.

STRAIGHT. Even when the object is to win the war?

CULVER. My dear sir, the Treasury would never permit such a thing.

STRAIGHT. Well, we needn't have a limited company. Perhaps after all it would be better to keep it quite private.

CULVER. Oh! It would. And what is the central idea of this charming syndicate?

STRAIGHT. The idea is—(looking round cautiously)—a new explosive.

CULVER. Again, precisely what I thought. Your own invention?

STRAIGHT. No. A friend of mine. It truly is the most marvellous explosive.

CULVER. I suppose it bangs everything.

STRAIGHT (simply). Oh, it does. A development of trinitrotoluol on new lines. I needn't say that my interest in the affair is purely patriotic.

CULVER. Of course. Of course.

STRAIGHT. I can easily get all the capital I need.

CULVER. Of course. Of course.

STRAIGHT. But I'm not in close touch with the official world, and in a matter of this kind official influence is absolutely essential to success. Now you are in touch with the official world. I shouldn't ask you to subscribe, though if you cared to do so there would be no objection. And I may say that the syndicate can't help making a tremendous lot of money. When I tell you that the new explosive is forty-seven times as powerful as trinitrotoluol itself—

CULVER. When you tell me that, Mr. Straight, I can only murmur the hope that you haven't got any of it in your pocket.

STRAIGHT (simply). Oh, no! Please don't be alarmed. But you see the immense possibilities. You see how this explosive would end the war practically at once. And you'll understand, of course, that although my articles in The Echo have apparently caused considerable commotion in London, and given me a position which I am glad to be able to use for the service of the Empire, my interest in mere journalism as such has almost ceased since my friend asked me to be secretary and treasurer of the syndicate.

CULVER. And so you're the secretary and treasurer?

STRAIGHT. Yes. We don't want to have subscribers of less than L100 each. If you cared to look into the matter—I know you're very busy, but a mere glance—

CULVER. Just so—a mere glance.

Enter Tranto excitedly.

HILDEGARDE (nearer the door than the rest). Again?

TRANTO (rather loudly and not specially to Hildegarde). Terrible news! I've just heard and I rushed back to tell you. Sampson Straight has died very suddenly in Cornwall. Bright's disease. He breathed his last in his own potato patch. (Aside to Hildegarde, in response to a gesture from her) I'm awfully sorry. The poor fellow simply had to expire.

MRS. CULVER (to Tranto). Now this just shows how the most absurd rumours do get abroad! Here is Mr. Sampson Straight. I'm so glad you've come, because you've always wanted to meet him in the flesh.

TRANTO (to Straight). Are you Sampson Straight?

STRAIGHT. I am, sir.

TRANTO. The Sampson Straight who lives in Cornwall?

STRAIGHT. Just so.

TRANTO. Impossible!

STRAIGHT. Pardon me. One moment. I was told there was a danger of my being inconvenienced in London by one of these military raids for rounding up slackers, and as I happen to have a rather youthful appearance, I took the precaution of bringing with me my birth-certificate and registration card. (Produces them.)

TRANTO (glancing at the card). And it's really you who write those brilliant articles in The Echo?

STRAIGHT. 'Brilliant'—I won't say. But I do write them.

TRANTO. Well, this is the most remarkable instance of survival after death that I ever came across.

STRAIGHT. I beg your pardon.

TRANTO. You're dead, my fine fellow. Your place isn't here. You ought to be in the next world. You're a humbug.

STRAIGHT (to Mrs. Culver). I'm not quite sure that I understand. Will you kindly introduce me?

MRS. CULVER. I'm so sorry. This is Mr. Tranto, proprietor and editor of The Echo—(apologetically, with an uneasy smile) a great humourist.

STRAIGHT (thunderstruck; aside). Well, I'm damned! (His whole demeanour changes. Nevertheless, while tacitly admitting that he is found out, he at once resumes his mild calmness. To Culver.) I've just remembered an appointment of vital importance. I'm afraid our little talk about the syndicate must be adjourned.

CULVER. I feared you might have to hurry away.

(Straight bows as a preliminary to departure.)

(John, deeply humiliated, averts his glance from everybody.)

TRANTO. Here! But you can't go off like this.

STRAIGHT. Why? Have you anything against me?

TRANTO. Nothing (casually) except that you're an impostor.

STRAIGHT. I fail to see it.

TRANTO. But haven't you just said that you write those articles in my paper?

STRAIGHT. Oh! That! Well, of course, if I'd known who you were I shouldn't have dreamed of saying any such thing. I always try to suit my talk to my company.

TRANTO. This time you didn't quite bring it off.

STRAIGHT. Perhaps I owe you some slight explanation (looking round blandly).

CULVER. Do you really think so?

STRAIGHT. The explanation is simplicity itself. (A sudden impulse.) Nothing but that. Put yourselves in my place. I come to London. I hear a vast deal of chatter about some articles in a paper called The Echo by some one calling himself 'Sampson Straight.' I also hear that nobody in London knows who Sampson Straight is. As I happen to be Sampson Straight, and as I have need of all possible personal prestige for the success of my purely patriotic mission, it occurs to me—in a flash!—to assert that I am the author of the famous articles.... Well, what more natural?

CULVER. What indeed?

STRAIGHT (to Tranto). And may I say that I'm the only genuine Sampson Straight in the United Kingdom, and that in my opinion it was a gross impertinence on the part of your contributor to steal my name? Why did you let him do it?

TRANTO (beginning reflectively). Now I hit on that name—not my contributor. It was when I was down in Cornwall. I caught sight of it in an old yellow newspaper in an old yellow hotel, and it struck me at once what a fine signature it would make at the bottom of a slashing article. By the way, have you ever been in the dock?

STRAIGHT. Dock?

TRANTO. I only ask because I seem to remember I saw your splendid name in a report of the local Assizes.

STRAIGHT. Assizes?

TRANTO. A, double s (pause) i-z-e-s.

STRAIGHT. I can afford to be perfectly open. I was—at one period of my career—in prison, but for a quite respectable crime. Bigamy—with extenuating circumstances.

MRS. CULVER (greatly upset). Dear, dear!

STRAIGHT. It might happen to any man.

CULVER (looking at Mrs. Culver). So it might.

STRAIGHT. Do you wish to detain me?

TRANTO. I simply haven't the heart to do it.

STRAIGHT. Then, ladies and gentlemen, I'll say good morning.

HILDEGARDE (stopping Straight near the door as he departs with more bows). Good-bye! (She holds out her hand with a smile!) And good luck!

STRAIGHT (taking her hand). Madam, I thank you. You evidently appreciate the fact that when one lives solely on one's wits, little mishaps are bound to occur from time to time, and that too much importance ought not to be attached to them. This is only my third slip, and I am fifty-five.

(Exit, back.)

MRS. CULVER (to Hildegarde, gently surprised). Darling, surely you need not have been quite so effusive!

HILDEGARDE. You see, I thought I owed him something, (with meaning and effect) as it was I who stole his name.

MRS. CULVER (utterly puzzled for a moment; then, when she understands, rushing to Hildegarde and embracing her). Oh! My wonderful girl!

JOHN (feebly and still humiliated). Stay me with flagons!

HILDEGARDE (to her mother). How nice you are about it, mamma!

MRS. CULVER. But I'm very proud, my pet. Of course I think you might have let me into the secret—

CULVER. None of us were let into the secret, Hermione—I mean until comparatively recent times. It was a matter between Hilda's conscience and her editor.

MRS. CULVER. Oh! I'm not complaining. I'm so relieved she didn't write those dreadful cookery articles.

HILDEGARDE. But do you mean to say you aren't frightfully shocked by my advanced politics, mamma?

MRS. CULVER. My child, how naive you are, after all! A woman is never shocked, though of course at times it may suit her to pretend to be. Only men are capable of being shocked. As for your advanced politics, as you call them, can't you see that it doesn't matter what you write so long as you are admired by the best people. It isn't views that are disreputable, it's the persons that hold them.

CULVER. I hope that's why you so gracefully gave way over the baronetcy, my dear.

MRS. CULVER (continuing to Hildegarde). There's just one thing I should venture to suggest, and that is, that you cease at once to be a typist and employ one yourself instead. It's most essential that you should live up to your position. Oh! I'm very proud of you.

HILDEGARDE. I don't quite know what my position is. According to the latest news I'm dead. (Challengingly to Tranto.) Mr. Tranto, you're keeping rather quiet, nearly as quiet as John (John changes his seat), but don't you think you owe me some explanation? Not more than a quarter of an hour ago in this very room it was distinctly agreed between us that you would not kill Sampson Straight, and now you rush back in a sort of homicidal mania.

MRS. CULVER. Oh! I'd no idea Mr. Tranto had called already this morning!

HILDEGARDE. Yes. I told him all about everything, and we came to a definite understanding.

MRS. CULVER. Oh!

TRANTO. I'm only too anxious to explain. I killed Sampson for the most urgent of all possible reasons. The Government is thinking of giving him a baronetcy?

CULVER. Not my baronetcy?

TRANTO. Precisely.

MRS. CULVER. But this is the most terrible thing I ever heard of.

TRANTO. It is. I met one of my chaps in the street. He was coming here to see me. (To Culver.) Your answer was expected this morning. It didn't arrive. Evidently your notions about titles had got abroad, and the Government has decided to offer a title to Sampson Straight this afternoon if you refuse.

CULVER. But how delightfully stupid of the Government.

TRANTO. On the contrary it was a really brilliant idea. Sampson Straight is a great literary celebrity, and he'd look mighty well in the Honours List. Literature's always a good card to play for Honours. It makes people think that Cabinet Ministers are educated.

HILDEGARDE. But I've spent half my time in attacking the Government!

TRANTO. Do you suppose the Government doesn't know that? In creating you a baronet (gazes at her) it would gain two advantages—it would prove how broad-minded it is, and it would turn an enemy into a friend.

HILDEGARDE. But surely the silly Government would make some enquiries first!

CULVER. Hilda, do remember what your mother said, and try to live up to your position. This isn't the Government that makes enquiries. It's the Government that gets things done.

TRANTO. You perceive the extreme urgency of the crisis. I had to act instantly. I did act. I slew the fellow on the spot, and his obituary will be in my late extra. The danger was awful—greater even than I realised at the moment, because I didn't know till I got back here that there was a genuine and highly unscrupulous Sampson Straight floating about.

MRS. CULVER. Danger? What danger?

TRANTO. Danger of the Government falling, dear lady. You see, it's like this. Assuming that the Government offers a baronetcy to Sampson Straight, and the offer becomes public property, as it infallibly would, then there are three alternatives. Either the Government has singled out for honour a person who doesn't exist at all; or it has sought to turn a woman (glancing at Hilda) into a male creature; or it is holding up to public admiration an ex-convict. Choose which theory you like. In any case the exposure would mean the immediate ruin of any Government.

HILDEGARDE (to Tranto). I always thought you wanted the Government to fall.

CULVER. Good heavens, my gifted child! No enlightened and patriotic person wants the Government to fall. All enlightened and patriotic persons want the Government to be afraid of falling. There you have the whole of war politics in a nut-shell. If the British Government fell the effect on the Allied cause would be bad, and might be extremely bad. But that's not the real explanation. The real explanation is that no one wants the Government to fall because no one wants to step into the Government's shoes. However, thanks to Tranto's masterly presence of mind in afflicting Sampson with a disease that kills like prussic acid, the Government can no longer give Sampson a title, and the danger to the Government is therefore over.

TRANTO. Over! I wish it was! Supposing the Government doesn't happen to see my late extra in time! Supposing the offer of a baronetcy to Sampson Straight goes forth! The mischief will be done. Worst of all, supposing the only genuine Sampson Straight hears of it and accepts it! A baronetcy given to a bigamist! No Government could possibly survive the exposure.

MRS. CULVER. Not even if its survival was necessary to the success of the Allied cause?

CULVER (gloomily, shaking his head). My dear, Tranto is right. This great country has always insisted first of all, and before anything else whatever, on the unsullied purity of the domestic life of its public men. Let a baronetcy be given, or even offered, to a bigamist—and this great country would not hesitate for one second, not one second.

TRANTO. The danger still exists. And only one man in this world can avert it.

CULVER. You don't mean me, Tranto?

TRANTO. I understand that you have neither accepted nor refused the offer. You must accept it instantly. Instantly.

(A silence. John begins to creep towards the door, back, and Hildegarde towards the door, L.)

MRS. CULVER (firmly). John, where are you going?

JOHN. Anywhere.

MRS. CULVER. Have you still got that letter to Lord Woking in which your father accepts the title?

JOHN. Yes.

MRS. CULVER. Come here. Let me see it. (She inspects the envelope of the letter and returns it to John.) Yes, that's right. Now listen to me. Get a taxi at once and drive to Lord Woking's, and insist on seeing Lord Woking, and give him that letter with your own hand. Do you understand? (Exit Hildegarde, L.) The stamp will be wasted, but never mind. Fly!

JOHN. It's a damned shame. (Mrs. Culver smiles calmly.)

CULVER (shaking John's flaccid hand). So it is. But let us remember, my boy, that you and I are—are doing our bit. (Pushes him violently towards the door.) Get along. (Exit John, back.)

TRANTO (looking round). Where's Hildegarde?

MRS. CULVER. She went in there.

TRANTO. I must just speak to her.

(Exit Tranto, L.)

MRS. CULVER (with a gesture towards the door, L). There's something between those two.

CULVER. I doubt it. (With a sigh.)

MRS. CULVER. What do you mean—you doubt it?

CULVER. They're probably too close together for there to be anything between them.

MRS. CULVER (shakes her head, smiling sceptically). The new generation has no romance. (In a new tone.) Arthur, kiss me.

CULVER. I'm dashed if I do!

MRS. CULVER. Then I'll kiss you! (She gives him a long kiss.)

(The lunch gong sounds during the embrace. Startled, they separate.)

CULVER. Food!

MRS. CULVER (with admiring enthusiasm). You've behaved splendidly.

CULVER. Yes, that's what you always say when you've won and I—haven't. (She kisses him again.)

Enter the Parlourmaid, back.

PARLOURMAID. Miss Starkey is still waiting, sir.

CULVER. Inexorable creature! I won't—I will not—(suddenly remembering that he has nothing to fear from Miss Starkey; gaily). Yes, I'll see her. She must lunch with us. May she lunch with us, Hermione?

MRS. CULVER (submissively). Why, Arthur, of course! (To Parlourmaid.) Miss Starkey can have Master John's place. Some lunch must be kept warm for Master John. (As the Parlourmaid is leaving.) One moment—bring up some champagne, please.

PARLOURMAID. Yes, Madam.

(Exit Parlourmaid.)

CULVER. Come along, I'm hungry. (Leading her towards the door. Then stopping.) I say.... Oh well, never mind.

MRS. CULVER. But what?

CULVER. You're a staggering woman, that's all. (Exit Culver and Mrs. Culver, back.)

Enter Hildegarde and Tranto.

HILDEGARDE (plaintively, as they enter). I told you my nerves were all upset, and yet you ran off before I—before I—and now it's lunch time!

TRANTO (facing her suddenly). Hilda! I now give you my defence. (He kisses her.)

Enter Culver, back, in time to interrupt the embrace.

CULVER. Excuse me. My wife sent me to ask if you'd lunch, Tranto. I gather that you will.

CURTAIN.

THE END