Malise.  Prison.  Break out!

Clare. [Turning to the window] Did you see the sunset?  That white cloud trying to fly up?

     [She holds up her bare arms, with a motion of flight.]

Malise. [Admiring her] Ah-h-h! [Then, as she drops her arms suddenly] Play me something.

Clare. [Going to the piano] I’m awfully grateful to you.  You don’t make me feel just an attractive female.  I wanted somebody like that. [Letting her hands rest on the notes] All the same, I’m glad not to be ugly.

Malise.  Thank God for beauty!

Paynter. [Opening the door] Mr. and Mrs. Fullarton.

Malise.  Who are they?

Clare. [Rising] She’s my chief pal.  He was in the Navy.

She goes forward.  Mrs. Fullerton is a rather tall woman, with dark hair and a quick eye.  He, one of those clean-shaven naval men of good presence who have retired from the sea, but not from their susceptibility.

Mrs. Fullarton. [Kissing Clare, and taking in both Malise and her husband’s look at Clare] We’ve only come for a minute.

Clare.  They’re playing Bridge in the dining-room.  Mr. Malise doesn’t play.  Mr. Malise—­Mrs. Fullarton, Mr. Fullarton.

     [They greet.]

Fullarton.  Most awfully jolly dress, Mrs. Dedmond.

Mrs. Fullarton.  Yes, lovely, Clare. [Fullarton abases eyes which mechanically readjust themselves] We can’t stay for Bridge, my dear; I just wanted to see you a minute, that’s all. [Seeing Huntingdon coming in she speaks in a low voice to her husband] Edward, I want to speak to Clare.  How d’you do, Captain Huntingdon?

Malise.  I’ll say good-night.

     He shakes hands with Clare, bows to Mrs. Fullarton, and makes
     his way out.  Huntingdon and Fullerton foregather in the
     doorway.

Mrs. Fullarton.  How are things, Clare? [Clare just moves her shoulders] Have you done what I suggested?  Your room?

Clare.  No.

Mrs. Fullarton.  Why not?

Clare.  I don’t want to torture him.  If I strike—­I’ll go clean.  I expect I shall strike.

Mrs. Fullarton.  My dear!  You’ll have the whole world against you.

Clare.  Even you won’t back me, Dolly?

Mrs. Fullarton.  Of course I’ll back you, all that’s possible, but I can’t invent things.

Clare.  You wouldn’t let me come to you for a bit, till I could find my feet?

     Mrs. Fullarton, taken aback, cannot refrain from her glance at
     Fullarton automatically gazing at Clare while he talks with
     Huntingdon.