Wellwyn.  Come in, Vicar, and have some grog.

Bertley.  Not to-night, thanks!  Christmas tomorrow!  Great temptation, though, this room!  Goodnight, Wellwyn; good-night, Ann!

Ann. [Coming from the fire towards the tea-table.] Good-night, Canon Bertley.

     [He goes out, and Wellwyn, shutting the door after him,
     approaches the fire.]

Ann. [Sitting on the little stool, with her back to the fire, and making tea.] Daddy!

Wellwyn.  My dear?

Ann.  You say you liked Professor Calway’s lecture.  Is it going to do you any good, that’s the question?

Wellwyn.  I—­I hope so, Ann.

Ann.  I took you on purpose.  Your charity’s getting simply awful. 
Those two this morning cleared out all my housekeeping money.

Wellwyn.  Um!  Um!  I quite understand your feeling.

Ann.  They both had your card, so I couldn’t refuse—­didn’t know what you’d said to them.  Why don’t you make it a rule never to give your card to anyone except really decent people, and—­picture dealers, of course.

Wellwyn.  My dear, I have—­often.

Ann.  Then why don’t you keep it?  It’s a frightful habit.  You are naughty, Daddy.  One of these days you’ll get yourself into most fearful complications.

Wellwyn.  My dear, when they—­when they look at you?

Ann.  You know the house wants all sorts of things.  Why do you speak to them at all?

Wellwyn.  I don’t—­they speak to me.

     [He takes of his ulster and hangs it over the back of an
     arm-chair.]

Ann.  They see you coming.  Anybody can see you coming, Daddy.  That’s why you ought to be so careful.  I shall make you wear a hard hat.  Those squashy hats of yours are hopelessly inefficient.

Wellwyn. [Gazing at his hat.] Calway wears one.

Ann.  As if anyone would beg of Professor Calway.

Wellwyn.  Well-perhaps not.  You know, Ann, I admire that fellow.  Wonderful power of-of-theory!  How a man can be so absolutely tidy in his mind!  It’s most exciting.

Ann.  Has any one begged of you to-day?

Wellwyn. [Doubtfully.] No—­no.

Ann. [After a long, severe look.] Will you have rum in your tea?

Wellwyn. [Crestfallen.] Yes, my dear—­a good deal.

Ann. [Pouring out the rum, and handing him the glass.] Well, who was it?

Wellwyn.  He didn’t beg of me. [Losing himself in recollection.]
Interesting old creature, Ann—­real type.  Old cabman.

Ann.  Where?

Wellwyn.  Just on the Embankment.

Ann.  Of course!  Daddy, you know the Embankment ones are always rotters.