Chloe. [Going to the window and opening it] This way, Rolf.  If you don’t come back I shall know he’s coming.  Put your watch by mine. [Looking at his watch] It’s a minute fast, see!

Rolf.  Look here, Chloe

Chloe.  Don’t wait; go on.

[She almost pushes him out through the window, closes it after him, draws the curtains again, stands a minute, thinking hard; goes to the bell and rings it; then, crossing to the writing table, Right Back, she takes out a chemist’s prescription.]

     [Anna comes in.]

Chloe.  I don’t want that champagne.  Take this to the chemist and get him to make up some of these cachets quick, and bring them back yourself.

Anna.  Yes, ma’am; but you have some.

Chloe.  They’re too old; I’ve taken two—­the strength’s out of them. 
Quick, please; I can’t stand this head.

Anna. [Taking the prescription—­with her smile] Yes, ma’am.  It’ll take some time—­you don’t want me?

Chloe.  No; I want the cachets.

     [Anna goes out.]

[Chloe looks at her wrist-watch, goes to the writing-table, which is old-fashioned, with a secret drawer, looks round her, dives at the secret drawer, takes out a roll of notes and a tissue paper parcel.  She counts the notes:  “Three hundred.”  Slips them into her breast and unwraps the little parcel.  It contains pears.  She slips them, too, into her dress, looks round startled, replaces the drawer, and regains her place on the sofa, lying prostrate as the door opens, and Hornblower comes in.  She does not open her ages, and he stands looking at her a moment before speaking.]

Hornblower. [Almost softly] How are ye feelin’.  Chloe?

Chloe.  Awful head!

Hornblower:  Can ye attend a moment?  I’ve had a note from that woman.

     [Chloe sits up.]

Hornblower. [Reading] “I have something of the utmost importance to tell you in regard to your daughter-in-law.  I shall be waiting to see you at eleven o’clock to-morrow morning.  The matter is so utterly vital to the happiness of all your family, that I cannot imagine you will fail to come.”  Now, what’s the meaning of it?  Is it sheer impudence, or lunacy, or what?

Chloe.  I don’t know.

Hornblower. [Not unkindly] Chloe, if there’s anything—­ye’d better tell me.  Forewarned’s forearmed.

Chloe.  There’s nothing; unless it’s—­[With a quick took at him,]—­ Unless it’s that my father was a—­a bankrupt.

Hornblower.  Hech!  Many a man’s been that.  Ye’ve never told us much about your family.

Chloe.  I wasn’t very proud of him.

Hornblower.  Well, ye’re not responsible for your father.  If that’s all, it’s a relief.  The bitter snobs!  I’ll remember it in the account I’ve got with them.