She lifts a green paper screw of tobacco from the debris round
     the armchair and taps on the door.  It opens.  Clare moves
     restlessly across the room.

Mrs. Miler. [Speaking into the room] The tobaccer.  The lady’s waitin’.

Clare has stopped before a reproduction of Titian’s picture “Sacred and Profane Love.”  Mrs. Miler stands regarding her with a Chinese smile.  Malise enters, a thread of tobacco still hanging to his cheek.

Malise. [Taking Mrs. MILER’s hat off the table and handing it to her] Do the other room.

     [Enigmatically she goes.]

Malise.  Jolly of you to come.  Can I do anything?

Clare.  I want advice-badly.

Malise.  What!  Spreading your wings?

Clare.  Yes.

Malise.  Ah!  Proud to have given you that advice.  When?

Clare.  The morning after you gave it me . . .

Malise.  Well?

Clare.  I went down to my people.  I knew it would hurt my Dad frightfully, but somehow I thought I could make him see.  No good.  He was awfully sweet, only—­he couldn’t.

Malise. [Softly] We English love liberty in those who don’t belong to us.  Yes.

Clare.  It was horrible.  There were the children—­and my old nurse.  I could never live at home now.  They’d think I was——.  Impossible —­utterly!  I’d made up my mind to go back to my owner—­And then—­ he came down himself.  I couldn’t d it.  To be hauled back and begin all over again; I simply couldn’t.  I watched for a chance; and ran to the station, and came up to an hotel.

Malise.  Bravo!

Clare.  I don’t know—­no pluck this morning!  You see, I’ve got to earn my living—­no money; only a few things I can sell.  All yesterday I was walking about, looking at the women.  How does anyone ever get a chance?

Malise.  Sooner than you should hurt his dignity by working, your husband would pension you off.

Clare.  If I don’t go back to him I couldn’t take it.

Malise.  Good!

Clare.  I’ve thought of nursing, but it’s a long training, and I do so hate watching pain.  The fact is, I’m pretty hopeless; can’t even do art work.  I came to ask you about the stage.

Malise.  Have you ever acted? [Clare shakes her head] You mightn’t think so, but I’ve heard there’s a prejudice in favour of training.  There’s Chorus—­I don’t recommend it.  How about your brother?

Clare.  My brother’s got nothing to spare, and he wants to get married; and he’s going back to India in September.  The only friend I should care to bother is Mrs. Fullarton, and she’s—­got a husband.

Malise.  I remember the gentleman.