CULVER.  Yes, darling, just go and suggest a short armistice to the
Germans while you take me to Brighton for a week’s fondling.

MRS. CULVER.  I shall just speak to Miss Starkey.  Strange that the wife, in order to influence the husband, should have to appeal to (disdainfully) the lady secretary!  But so it is.

CULVER.  Hermione, I must beg you not to interfere between Miss Starkey and me.  Interference will upset Miss Starkey, and I cannot stand her being upset.  I depend upon her absolutely.  First, Miss Starkey is the rock upon which my official existence is built.  She is a serious and conscientious rock.  She is hard and expects me to be hard.  Secondly, Miss Starkey is the cushion between me and the world.  She knows my tender spots, and protects them.  Thirdly, Miss Starkey is my rod—­and I kiss it.

MRS. CULVER.  Arthur!... (tries to be agreeable).  But I really am vexed.

CULVER.  Well, I’m only hungry.

Enter Parlourmaid.

PARLOURMAID.  Cook’s compliments, madam, and dinner will be twenty minutes late. (Exit.)

(A shocked silence.)

CULVER (with an exhausted sigh).  And yet I gave that cook one of my most captivating smiles this morning.

MRS. CULVER (settling Mr. Culver into a chair).  She’s done it simply because I told her to-night that rationing is definitely coming in.  Her reply was that the kitchen would never stand it, whatever the Government said.  She was quite upset—­and so she’s gone and done something to the dinner.

CULVER.  Surely rather illogical of her, isn’t it?  Or have I missed a link in the chain of reasoning?

MRS. CULVER.  I shall give her notice—­after dinner.

JOHN.  Couldn’t you leave it till after the holidays, mother?

HILDEGARDE.  And where shall you find another cook, mamma?

MRS. CULVER.  The first thing is to get rid of the present one.  Then we shall see.

CULVER.  My dear, you talk as if she was a prime minister.  Still, it might be a good plan to sack all the servants before rationing comes in, and engage deaf-mutes.

MRS. CULVER.  Deaf-mutes!

CULVER.  Deaf-mutes.  Then they wouldn’t be worried by the continual groaning of my hunger, and I shouldn’t hear any complaints about theirs.

MRS. CULVER (to Hildegarde).  My pet, you’ve time to change now.  Do run and change.  You’re so sombre.

HILDEGARDE.  I can’t do it in twenty minutes.

MRS. CULVER.  Then put a bright shawl on—­for papa’s sake.

HILDEGARDE.  I haven’t got a bright shawl.

MRS. CULVER.  Then take mine.  The one with the pink beads on it.  It’s in my wardrobe—­right-hand side.

JOHN.  That means it’ll be on the left-hand side.

(Exit Hildegarde, back, with a look at Tranto, who opens the door for her.)