MRS. CULVER (with sweet apprehensiveness).  Now Arthur, I’m afraid after all you have something on your mind.

CULVER.  I’ve got nothing on my stomach, anyway. (Bracing himself.) Yes, darling, it’s true.  I have got something on my mind.  Within the last hour I’ve had a fearful shock—­

MRS. CULVER.  I knew it!

CULVER.  And I need sustaining.  I hadn’t meant to say anything until after dinner, but in view of cook’s drastic alterations in the time-table I may as well tell you (looking round) at once.

MRS. CULVER.  It’s something about the Government again.

CULVER.  The Government has been in a very serious situation.

MRS. CULVER (alarmed).  You mean they’re going to ask you to resign?

CULVER.  I wish they would!

MRS. CULVER.  Arthur!  Do please remember the country is at war.

CULVER.  Is it?  So it is.  You see, my pet, I remember such a lot of things.  I remember that my brainy partner is counting khaki trousers in the Army clothing department.  I remember that my other partner ought to be in a lunatic asylum, but isn’t.  I remember that my business is going to the dogs at a muzzle velocity of about five thousand feet a second.  I remember that from mere snobbishness I work for the Government without a penny of salary, and that my sole reward is to be insulted and libelled by high-brow novelists who write for the press.  Therefore you ought not to be startled if I secretly yearn to resign.  However, I shall not be asked to resign.  I said that the Government had been in a very serious situation.  It was.  But it will soon recover.

MRS. CULVER.  How soon?

CULVER.  On New Year’s Day.

JOHN.  Then what’s the fearful shock, dad?

MRS. CULVER.  Yes.  Have you heard anything special?

CULVER.  No.  But I’ve seen something special.  I saw it less than an hour ago.  It was shown to me without the slightest warning, and I admit it shook me.  You can perceive for yourselves that it shook me.

MRS. CULVER.  But what?

CULVER.  The New Year’s Honours List—­or rather a few choice selections from the more sensational parts of it.

Enter Hildegarde.

MRS. CULVER.  Arthur, what do you mean? (To Hildegarde, in despair.) My chick, your father grows more and more puzzling every day!  How well that shawl suits you!  You look quite a different girl.  But you’ve—­(arranges the shawl on Hildegarde) I really don’t know what your father has on his mind!  I really don’t!