Mrs Warren [revolted] Yes; it’s the sort of thing that would grow in your mind.

[He halts in his prowling; and the two look at one another, she steadfastly, with a sort of awe behind her contemptuous disgust:  he stealthily, with a carnal gleam in his eye and a loose grin.]

Crofts [suddenly becoming anxious and urgent as he sees no sign of sympathy in her] Look here, Kitty:  youre a sensible woman:  you needn’t put on any moral airs.  I’ll ask no more questions; and you need answer none.  I’ll settle the whole property on her; and if you want a checque for yourself on the wedding day, you can name any figure you like—­in reason.

Mrs Warren.  So it’s come to that with you, George, like all the other worn-out old creatures!

Crofts [savagely] Damn you!

[Before she can retort the door of the kitchen is opened; and the voices of the others are heard returning.  Crofts, unable to recover his presence of mind, hurries out of the cottage.  The clergyman appears at the kitchen door.]

Rev.  S. [looking round] Where is Sir George?

Mrs Warren.  Gone out to have a pipe. [The clergyman takes his hat from the table, and joins Mrs Warren at the fireside.  Meanwhile, Vivie comes in, followed by Frank, who collapses into the nearest chair with an air of extreme exhaustion.  Mrs Warren looks round at Vivie and says, with her affectation of maternal patronage even more forced than usual] Well, dearie:  have you had a good supper?

Vivie.  You know what Mrs Alison’s suppers are. [She turns to Frank and pets him] Poor Frank! was all the beef gone? did it get nothing but bread and cheese and ginger beer? [Seriously, as if she had done quite enough trifling for one evening] Her butter is really awful.  I must get some down from the stores.

Frank.  Do, in Heaven’s name!

[Vivie goes to the writing-table and makes a memorandum to order the butter.  Praed comes in from the kitchen, putting up his handkerchief, which he has been using as a napkin.]

Rev.  S. Frank, my boy:  it is time for us to be thinking of home.

Your mother does not know yet that we have visitors.

Praed. I’m afraid we’re giving trouble.

Frank [rising] Not the least in the world:  my mother will be delighted to see you.  She’s a genuinely intellectual artistic woman; and she sees nobody here from one year’s end to another except the gov’nor; so you can imagine how jolly dull it pans out for her. [To his father] Y o u r e not intellectual or artistic:  are you pater?  So take Praed home at once; and I’ll stay here and entertain Mrs Warren.  Youll pick up Crofts in the garden.  He’ll be excellent company for the bull-pup.

Praed [taking his hat from the dresser, and coming close to Frank] Come with us, Frank.  Mrs Warren has not seen Miss Vivie for a long time; and we have prevented them from having a moment together yet.