A room in Mary Gray’s flat in the West End, August, 1914.

    There is a door R., leading into the hall.  There is also a door L.,
    but it only leads into a cupboard that Mary really needs.

Marmaduke Beltravers, a well-dressed man of thirty-five, is standing by a small table pressing his suit (his matrimonial suit, of course), but without success.  His bold black eyes are flashing. Mary’s lovely face (by an ingenious manipulation of the limelight_) is quivering._

Marmaduke Beltravers (hoarsely).  I have laid at your feet my hand, my heart and my flourishing business, and thus—­thus I am supplanted by that puling saint, George Jeffreys.  A-ha! [Gnaws his moustache.

    Enter George Jeffreys, an English gentleman.

George Jeffreys (furiously).  You here?  You hound!  You blackguard!  You ...

Mary (realising that this is going to be no place for a lady).  The butcher—­know his ring. [Exit by door R.

G.J. (pointing fiercely to cupboard).  Go!

M.B. (going).  Bah!  You triumph now, but my day will dawn yettah. (Starts.) What was that?

Newsboy (outside).  War with Germany!  War with Germany!

G.J. War?  Then I am a pauper. [He does not say how, but presumably he knows best.

M.B. (ceasing to go).  My day has dawned now.

G.J. How so?

M.B. Your conscience calls you, does it not, to enlist? (George nods.) I have no conscience.  While you fight I shall continue to press my suit.

G.J. (despairingly to himself).  Alas! what chance will that sweet girl have against his dark saturnine beauty and his wealth? (Aloud, hopefully, as a thought strikes him) But stay—­war with Germany—­perhaps you are a pauper also?

M.B. Not I, indeed.  I am a maker of munitions.  A-ha! [Twirls his moustache.

G.J. (losing his temper).  Cur! [Exit, to enlist, into cupboard.  Before he has time to realise his mistake the curtain falls.

ACT II.

    Hyde Park, August, 1915.

    A dozen energetic supers, by being extremely glad to see one another
    very many times, are creating the illusion of a gay and fashionable
    throng.  Enter Marmaduke Beltravers with Mary. She is distraite.

M.B. (in full hearing of fashionable throng).  Darling, I have waited patiently for you.  Say that you will marry me now.

Mary. Marmaduke, you are rich, you are beautiful and you are kind to me in your rather wicked way.  But, alas!  I cannot forget the noble figure of George—­my George. [She sobs.