Jack. [Sullenly.] Yes, I did.

Barthwick.  Good heavens!  What next?

Mrs. Barthwick.  I ’m certain you never let that man into the house, Jack, it’s a wild invention.  I’m sure there’s not a word of truth in it, Mr. Roper.

Roper. [Very suddenly.] Where did you sleep last night?

Jack. [Promptly.] On the sofa, there—­[hesitating]—­that is—­I——­

Barthwick.  On the sofa?  D’ you mean to say you did n’t go to bed?

Jack.[Sullenly.] No.

Barthwick.  If you don’t remember anything, how can you remember that?

Jack.  Because I woke up there in the morning.

Mrs. Barthwick.  Oh, Jack!

Barthwick.  Good Gracious!

Jack.  And Mrs. Jones saw me.  I wish you would n’t bait me so.

Roper.  Do you remember giving any one a drink?

Jack.  By Jove, I do seem to remember a fellow with—­a fellow with [He looks at Roper.] I say, d’ you want me——?

Roper. [Quick as lightning.] With a dirty face?

Jack. [With illumination.] I do—­I distinctly remember his——­

     [Barthwick moves abruptly; Mrs. Barthwick looks at Roper
     angrily, and touches her son’s arm.]

Mrs. Barthwick.  You don’t remember, it’s ridiculous!  I don’t believe the man was ever here at all.

Barthwick.  You must speak the truth, if it is the truth.  But if you do remember such a dirty business, I shall wash my hands of you altogether.

Jack. [Glaring at them.] Well, what the devil——­

Mrs. Barthwick.  Jack!

Jack.  Well, Mother, I—­I don’t know what you do want.

Mrs. Barthwick.  We want you to speak the truth and say you never let this low man into the house.

Barthwick.  Of course if you think that you really gave this man whisky in that disgraceful way, and let him see what you’d been doing, and were in such a disgusting condition that you don’t remember a word of it——­

Roper. [Quick.] I’ve no memory myself—­never had.

Barthwick. [Desperately.] I don’t know what you’re to say.

Roper. [To jack.] Say nothing at all!  Don’t put yourself in a false position.  The man stole the things or the woman stole the things, you had nothing to do with it.  You were asleep on the sofa.

Mrs. Barthwick.  Your leaving the latch-key in the door was quite bad enough, there’s no need to mention anything else. [Touching his forehead softly.] My dear, how hot your head is!

Jack.  But I want to know what I ’m to do. [Passionately.] I won’t be badgered like this.

     [Mrs. Barthwick recoils from him.]