Mabel.  No, I would not.

Dot.  Now, mother; did you love father?

Christine.  Dot, you really are awful.

Dot. [Rueful and detached] Well, it is a bit too thick, perhaps.

Joan.  Dot!

Dot.  Well, mother, did you—­I mean quite calmly?

Lady Cheshire.  Yes, dear, quite calmly.

Dot.  Would you have married him if you hadn’t? [Lady Cheshire shakes her head] Then we’re all agreed!

Mabel.  Except yourself.

Dot. [Grimly] Even if I loved him, he might think himself lucky if I married him.

Mabel.  Indeed, and I’m not so sure.

Dot. [Making a face at her] What I was going to——­

Lady Cheshire.  But don’t you think, dear, you’d better not?

Dot.  Well, I won’t say what I was going to say, but what I do say is—­Why the devil——­

Lady Cheshire.  Quite so, Dot!

Dot. [A little disconcerted.] If they’re tired of each other, they ought not to marry, and if father’s going to make them——­

Christine.  You don’t understand in the least.  It’s for the sake of the——­

Dot.  Out with it, Old Sweetness!  The approaching infant!  God bless it!

     There is a sudden silence, for Keith and latter are seen coming
     from the dining-room.

Latter.  That must be so, Ronny.

Keith.  No, John; not a bit of it!

Latter.  You don’t think!

Keith.  Good Gad, who wants to think after dinner!

Dot.  Come on!  Let’s play pool. [She turns at the billiard-room door.] Look here!  Rehearsal to-morrow is directly after breakfast; from “Eccles enters breathless” to the end.

Mabel.  Whatever made you choose “Caste,” Dot?  You know it’s awfully difficult.

Dot.  Because it’s the only play that’s not too advanced. [The girls all go into the billiard-room.]

Lady Cheshire.  Where’s Bill, Ronny?

Keith. [With a grimace] I rather think Sir William and he are in
Committee of Supply—­Mem-Sahib.

Lady Cheshire.  Oh!

     She looks uneasily at the dining-room; then follows the girls
     out.

Latter. [In the tone of one resuming an argument] There can’t be two opinions about it, Ronny.  Young Dunning’s refusal is simply indefensible.

Keith.  I don’t agree a bit, John.

Latter.  Of course, if you won’t listen.

Keith. [Clipping a cigar] Draw it mild, my dear chap.  We’ve had the whole thing over twice at least.

Latter.  My point is this——­

Keith. [Regarding latter quizzically with his halfclosed eyes] I know—­I know—­but the point is, how far your point is simply professional.