STRANGER (retreating nervously).  No offence meant, mate.  We’re in the same boat—­you and me; we don’t want to get fighting.  My quarrel isn’t with you.  You go and tell Sir John that there’s a gentleman come to see him—­wants a few minutes of his valuable time—­from Lambeth way. He’ll know.  That’s all right.

PERKINS (drawing back, disappointedly).  Then I shan’t be seeing you Sunday afternoon?

STRANGER (laughing awkwardly).  There, that’s all right.  No offence meant.  Somebody from Lambeth—­that’s what you’ve got to say.  And tell ’im I’m in a hurry. He’ll know what I mean.

PERKINS (going slowly to the door).  Well, it’s a queer game, but being in the ’Ouse of Commons, one can’t never be surprised.  All sorts, as you might say, all sorts.

    [Exit PERKINS.

(THE STRANGER, left alone, walks up and down the room, nervously impatient.)

(LADY PEMBURY comes in.  In twenty-eight years of happy married life, she has mothered one husband and five daughters, but she has never had a son—­her only sorrow.  Her motto might be, “It is just as easy to be kind”; and whether you go to her for comfort or congratulation, you will come away feeling that she is the only person who really understands.)

LADY PEMBURY.  Oh! (She stops and then comes towards THE STRANGER) How do you do?  Are you waiting to see my husband?

STRANGER (taken aback at seeing her).  Yes.

(He is not sure for the moment if this upsets his plans or forwards them.)

LADY PEMBURY.  I think he’s engaged just now.  But he won’t be long.  Perkins will tell him as soon as he is free.

STRANGER (contemptuously).  His name is Perkins, is it?

LADY PEMBURY (surprised).  The butler?  Yes.

STRANGER (contemptuously).  Mister Perkins, the Butler.

LADY PEMBURY (with a friendly smile).  You don’t mind our having a butler? (She picks up some work from the table and takes it to the sofa)

STRANGER (shrugging his shoulders).  One more parasite.

LADY PEMBURY (interested).  I always thought parasites were much smaller than Perkins. (Sitting down) Do sit down, won’t you? (He sits down reluctantly.) You mustn’t mind my being here.  This is really my work-room.  I expect my husband will take you into his own room when he’s ready.

STRANGER.  Your work-room?

LADY PEMBURY (looking up at him with a smile).  You don’t seem to like our domestic arrangements.

STRANGER (waving his hand at her embroidery).  You call that work?

LADY PEMBURY (pleasantly).  Other people’s work always seems so contemptible, doesn’t it?  Now I expect if you tried to do this, you would find it very difficult indeed, and if I tried to do yours—­what is your work, Mr.—­er—­Dear me, I don’t even know your name.

STRANGER (bitterly).  Never mind my name.  Take it that I haven’t got a name.