Barlow.  Thanks.  Too late now.  You said Billie wouldn’t wait after four thirty.

Yardsley.  Did I say four thirty?  I meant five thirty.  Anyhow, Billie isn’t over-prompt.  Better go.

Barlow.  You seem mighty anxious to get rid of me.

Yardsley.  I?  Not at all, my dear boy—­not at all.  I’m very, very fond of you, but I thought you’d prefer opera to me.  Don’t you see?  That’s where my modesty comes in.  You’re so fond of a good chat I thought you’d want to go to-night.  Wilkins has a box.

Barlow.  You said seats a little while ago.

Yardsley.  Of course I did.  And why not?  There are seats in boxes. 
Didn’t you know that?

Barlow.  Look here, Yardsley, what’s up, anyhow?  You’ve been deuced queer to-day.  What are you after?

Yardsley (tragically).  Shall I confide in you?  Can I, with a sense of confidence that you will not betray me?

Barlow (eagerly).  Yes, Bob.  Go on.  What is it?  I’ll never give you away, and I may be able to give you some good advice.

Yardsley.  I am here to—­to—­to rob the house!  Business has been bad, and one must live. [Barlow looks at him in disgust.

Yardsley (mockingly).  You have my secret, John Barlow.  Remember that it was wrung from me in confidence.  You must not betray me.  Turn your back while I surreptitiously remove the piano and the gas-fixtures, won’t you?

Barlow (looking at him thoughtfully).  Yardsley, I have done you an injustice.

Yardsley.  Indeed?

Barlow.  Yes.  Some one claimed, at the club, the other day, that you were the biggest donkey in existence, and I denied it.  I was wrong, old man, I was wrong, and I apologize.  You are.

Yardsley.  You are too modest, Jack.  You forget—­yourself.

Barlow.  Well, perhaps I do; but I’ve nothing to conceal, and you have.  You’ve been behaving in a most incomprehensible fashion this afternoon, as if you owned the house.

Yardsley.  Well, what of it?  Do you own it?

Barlow.  No, I don’t, but—­

Yardsley.  But you hope to.  Well, I have no such mercenary motive. 
I’m not after the house.

Barlow (bristling up).  After the house?  Mercenary motive?  I demand an explanation of those words.  What do you mean?

Yardsley.  I mean this, Jack Barlow:  I mean that I am here for—­for my own reasons; but you—­you have come here for the purpose of—­

Dorothy enters wish a tray, upon which are the tea things.

Barlow (about to retort to Yardsley, perceiving Dorothy).  Ah!  Let me assist you.

Dorothy.  Thank you so much.  I really believe I never needed help more. (She delivers the tray to Barlow, who sets it on the table.  Dorothy, exhausted, drops into a chair.) Fan me—­quick—­or I shall faint.  I’ve—­I’ve had an awful time, and I really don’t know what to do!