[Wellwyn approaches them with fearful interest.]

Hoxton.  Not a bit of it!  He wants one for his knob!  Brace ’em up!  It’s the only thing.

Bertley.  Personally, I think that if he were spoken to seriously

Calway.  I cannot walk arm in arm with a crab!

Hoxton. [Approaching Calway.] I beg your pardon?

Calway. [Moving back a little.] You’re moving backwards, Sir Thomas.  I’ve told you before, convinced reactionaryism, in these days——­

     [There comes a single knock on the street door.]

Bertley. [Looking at his watch.] D’you know, I’m rather afraid this may be our young husband, Wellwyn.  I told him half-past four.

Wellwyn.  Oh!  Ah!  Yes. [Going towards the two reformers.] Shall we go into the house, Professor, and settle the question quietly while the Vicar sees a young man?

Calway. [Pale with uncompleted statement, and gravitating insensibly in the direction indicated.] The merest sense of continuity—­a simple instinct for order——­

Hoxton. [Following.] The only way to get order, sir, is to bring the disorderly up with a round turn. [Calway turns to him in the doorway.] You people without practical experience——­

Calway.  If you’ll listen to me a minute.

Hoxton.  I can show you in a mo——­

     [They vanish through the door.]

Wellwyn.  I was afraid of it.

Bertley.  The two points of view.  Pleasant to see such keenness. 
I may want you, Wellwyn.  And Ann perhaps had better not be present.

Wellwyn. [Relieved.] Quite so!  My dear!

[Ann goes reluctantly.  Wellwyn opens the street door.  The lamp outside has just been lighted, and, by its gleam, is seen the figure of Rory Megan, thin, pale, youthful.  Ann turning at the door into the house gives him a long, inquisitive look, then goes.]

Wellwyn.  Is that Megan?

Megan.  Yus.

Wellwyn.  Come in.

     [Megan comes in.  There follows an awkward silence, during
     which Wellwyn turns up the light, then goes to the tea table
     and pours out a glass of tea and rum.]

Bertley. [Kindly.] Now, my boy, how is it that you and your wife are living apart like this?

Megan.  I dunno.

Bertley.  Well, if you don’t, none of us are very likely to, are we?

Megan.  That’s what I thought, as I was comin’ along.

Wellwyn. [Twinkling.] Have some tea, Megan? [Handing him the glass.] What d’you think of her picture?  ’Tisn’t quite finished.

Megan. [After scrutiny.] I seen her look like it—­once.