Megan.  Yus.

     [Wellwyn opens the door.  Mrs. Megan and Ferrand are revealed. 
     They are about to enter, but catching sight of Megan,
     hesitate.]

Bertley.  Come in!  Come in!

[Mrs. Megan enters stolidly.  Ferrand, following, stands apart with an air of extreme detachment.  Megan, after a quick glance at them both, remains unmoved.  No one has noticed that the door of the model’s room has been opened, and that the unsteady figure of old Timson is standing there.]

Bertley. [A little awkward in the presence of Ferrand—­to the Megans.] This begins a new chapter.  We won’t improve the occasion.  No need.

     [Megan, turning towards his wife, makes her a gesture as if to
     say:  “Here! let’s get out of this!”]

Bentley.  Yes, yes, you’ll like to get home at once—­I know. [He holds up his hand mechanically.]

Timson.  I forbids the banns.

Bertley, [Startled.] Gracious!

Timson. [Extremely unsteady.] Just cause and impejiment.  There ’e stands. [He points to Ferrand.] The crimson foreigner!  The mockin’ jay!

Wellwyn.  Timson!

Timson.  You’re a gen’leman—­I’m aweer o’ that but I must speak the truth—­[he waves his hand] an’ shame the devil!

Bertley.  Is this the rum—?

Timson. [Struck by the word.] I’m a teetotaler.

Wellwyn.  Timson, Timson!

Timson.  Seein’ as there’s ladies present, I won’t be conspicuous. [Moving away, and making for the door, he strikes against the dais, and mounts upon it.] But what I do say, is:  He’s no better than ’er and she’s worse.

Bertley.  This is distressing.

Ferrand. [Calmly.] On my honour, Monsieur!

     [Timson growls.]

Wellwyn.  Now, now, Timson!

Timson.  That’s all right.  You’re a gen’leman, an’ I’m a gen’leman, but he ain’t an’ she ain’t.

Wellwyn.  We shall not believe you.

Bertley.  No, no; we shall not believe you.

Timson. [Heavily.] Very well, you doubts my word.  Will it make any difference, Guv’nor, if I speaks the truth?

Bertley.  No, certainly not—­that is—­of course, it will.

Timson.  Well, then, I see ’em plainer than I see [pointing at
Bertley] the two of you.

Wellwyn.  Be quiet, Timson!

Bertley.  Not even her husband believes you.

Megan. [Suddenly.] Don’t I!

Wellwyn.  Come, Megan, you can see the old fellow’s in Paradise.

Bertley.  Do you credit such a—­such an object?