BETTY. [Beside herself, wringing her hands.] Hector, Hector—­

HECTOR. [Savagely, as he makes a half-turn towards her.] You still there?  Wait a bit.  I’ll come to you, when I’ve finished with him.  If you haven’t gone and put on your things, you shall go off without them.  Into the street.  You’ll find other women there like you. [He turns back to WALTER.] Here, you, have you written? [He looks over WALTER’S shoulder.] Go on—­I’m getting impatient.  Go on, I tell you.  I—­am—­taking—­the—­

[WALTER is slowly writing down the words, HECTOR standing over him; BETTY suddenly bursts into a peal of wild, uproarious laughter, and lets herself fall into a chair to the left of the card-table.

HECTOR. [Madly.] You!

     [He leaves WALTER, and almost springs at her.

BETTY. [Brimming with merriment.] Oh, you old donkey! How we have pulled your leg!

HECTOR. [Staring at her, stopping dead short.] You—­

BETTY. [Through her laughter, choking.] Hector, Hector!  Conventional situations!  The usual stodge!  The lover and husband!  You goose, you wonderful old goose!

     [WALTER, with a mighty effort, has pulled himself together, and
     roars with laughter too.  He jumps up. HECTOR is standing there
     blinking, paralysed.

WALTER. [Merrily, to BETTY.] Oh really, you shouldn’t.  You’ve given it away too soon!

BETTY.  Too soon!  He’d have strangled us.  Did you ever see such a tiger?

WALTER. [Chuckling hugely.] He didn’t give the lover much chance to stand up to him, did he?

BETTY.  And wasn’t he original!  Dog, hound, villain, traitor!

WALTER.  To say nothing of Jezebel!  Though, between ourselves, I think he meant Messalina!

BETTY.  And I was to go into the street.  But he did let me fill my bag!

WALTER.  I think the playwrights come out on top, I do indeed. [He goes to HECTOR, and stands to left of him.] Hector, old chap, here’s the letter!

BETTY. [Going to the other side of HECTOR, and dropping a low curtsey.] And please, Mr. Husband, was it to be a big bag, or a small bag, and might I have taken the silver teapot?

[HECTOR has been standing there stupid, dazed, dumbfounded, too bewildered for his mind to act or thoughts to come to him; he suddenly bursts into a roar of Titanic, overwhelming laughter.  He laughs, and laughs, staggers to the sofa, falls on it, rocks and roars till the tears roll down his cheeks.  He sways from side to side, unable to control himself—­his laughter is so colossal that the infection catches the others; theirs becomes genuine too.

BETTY. [With difficulty, trying to control herself.] The letter!  Old Gillingham!  “His name, scoundrel, his name!”