Katherine.  No.  You can go out on the terrace a little, and then you must go up.

     [Olive goes reluctantly out on to the terrace.]

Steel.  Awful news this morning of that Pass!  And have you seen these? [Reading from the newspaper] “We will have no truck with the jargon of the degenerate who vilifies his country at such a moment.  The Member for Toulmin has earned for himself the contempt of all virile patriots.” [He takes up a second journal] “There is a certain type of public man who, even at his own expense, cannot resist the itch to advertise himself.  We would, at moments of national crisis, muzzle such persons, as we muzzle dogs that we suspect of incipient rabies . . . .”  They’re in full cry after him!

Katherine.  I mind much more all the creatures who are always flinging mud at the country making him their hero suddenly!  You know what’s in his mind?

Steel.  Oh!  We must get him to give up that idea of lecturing everywhere against the war, Mrs. More; we simply must.

Katherine. [Listening] The deputation’s come.  Go and fetch him, Mr. Steel.  He’ll be in his room, at the House.

[Steel goes out, and Katherine Stands at bay.  In a moment he opens the door again, to usher in the deputation; then retires.  The four gentlemen have entered as if conscious of grave issues.  The first and most picturesque is James home, a thin, tall, grey-bearded man, with plentiful hair, contradictious eyebrows, and the half-shy, half-bold manners, alternately rude and over polite, of one not accustomed to Society, yet secretly much taken with himself.  He is dressed in rough tweeds, with a red silk tie slung through a ring, and is closely followed by Mark wace, a waxy, round-faced man of middle-age, with sleek dark hair, traces of whisker, and a smooth way of continually rubbing his hands together, as if selling something to an esteemed customer.  He is rather stout, wears dark clothes, with a large gold chain.  Following him comes Charles Shelder, a lawyer of fifty, with a bald egg-shaped head, and gold pince-nez.  He has little side whiskers, a leathery, yellowish skin, a rather kind but watchful and dubious face, and when he speaks seems to have a plum in his mouth, which arises from the preponderance of his shaven upper lip.  Last of the deputation comes William Banning, an energetic-looking, square-shouldered, self-made country-man, between fifty and sixty, with grey moustaches, ruddy face, and lively brown eyes.]

Katherine.  How do you do, Mr. Home?

Home. [Bowing rather extravagantly over her hand, as if to show his independence of women’s influence] Mrs. More!  We hardly expected—­ This is an honour.

Wace.  How do you do, Ma’am?

Katherine.  And you, Mr. Wace?