Studdenham.  Then you think you’d like him, Miss Dot?  The other’s got a white chest; she’s a lady.

     [He protrudes the left-hand pocket.]

Dot.  Oh, yes!  Studdenham; thanks, thanks awfully.

Studdenham.  Wonderful faithful creatures; follow you like a woman.  You can’t shake ’em off anyhow. [He protrudes the right-hand pocket] My girl, she’d set her heart on him, but she’ll just have to do without.

Dot. [As though galvanised] Oh! no, I can’t take it away from her.

Studdenham.  Bless you, she won’t mind!  That’s settled, then. [He turns to the door.  To the puppy] Ah! would you!  Tryin’ to wriggle out of it!  Regular young limb! [He goes out, followed by Jackson.]

Christine.  How ghastly!

Dot. [Suddenly catching sight of the book in her hand] “Caste!”
     [She gives vent to a short sharp laugh.]

The curtain falls.

Act III

It is five o’clock of the same day.  The scene is the smoking-room, with walls of Leander red, covered by old steeplechase and hunting prints.  Armchairs encircle a high ferulered hearth, in which a fire is burning.  The curtains are not yet drawn across mullioned windows, but electric light is burning.  There are two doors, leading, the one to the billiard-room, the other to a corridor.  Bill is pacing up and doom; Harold, at the fireplace, stands looking at him with commiseration.

Bill.  What’s the time?

Harold.  Nearly five.  They won’t be in yet, if that’s any consolation.  Always a tough meet—­[softly] as the tiger said when he ate the man.

Bill.  By Jove!  You’re the only person I can stand within a mile of me, Harold.

Harold.  Old boy!  Do you seriously think you’re going to make it any better by marrying her?

     [Bill shrugs his shoulders, still pacing the room.]

Bill.  Look here!  I’m not the sort that finds it easy to say things.

Harold.  No, old man.

Bill.  But I’ve got a kind of self-respect though you wouldn’t think it!

Harold.  My dear old chap!

Bill.  This is about as low-down a thing as one could have done, I suppose—­one’s own mother’s maid; we’ve known her since she was so high.  I see it now that—­I’ve got over the attack.

Harold.  But, heavens! if you’re no longer keen on her, Bill!  Do apply your reason, old boy.

     There is silence; while Bill again paces up and dozen.

Bill.  If you think I care two straws about the morality of the thing.

Harold.  Oh! my dear old man!  Of course not!

Bill.  It’s simply that I shall feel such a d—–­d skunk, if I leave her in the lurch, with everybody knowing.  Try it yourself; you’d soon see!