Clare.  Take care.

     But Malise, after one convulsive movement of his hands, has
     again become rigid.

George.  I don’t pretend to be subtle or that kind of thing; but I have ordinary common sense.  I don’t attempt to be superior to plain facts——­

Clare. [Under her breath] Facts!

George.  Oh! for goodness’ sake drop that hifalutin’ tone.  It doesn’t suit you.  Look here!  If you like to go abroad with one of your young sisters until the autumn, I’ll let the flat and go to the Club.

Clare.  Put the fire out with a penny hose. [Slowly] I am not coming back to you, George.  The farce is over.

George. [Taken aback for a moment by the finality of her tone, suddenly fronts Malise] Then there is something between you and this fellow.

Malise. [Dangerously, but without moving] I beg your pardon!

Clare.  There—­is—­nothing.

George. [Looking from one to the other] At all events, I won’t—­I won’t see a woman who once—­[Clare makes a sudden effacing movement with her hands] I won’t see her go to certain ruin without lifting a finger.

Clare.  That is noble.

George. [With intensity] I don’t know that you deserve anything of me.  But on my honour, as a gentleman, I came here this morning for your sake, to warn you of what you’re doing. [He turns suddenly on Malise] And I tell this precious friend of yours plainly what I think of him, and that I’m not going to play into his hands.

     [Malise, without stirring from the wall, looks at Clare, and his
     lips move.]

Clare. [Shakes her head at him—­then to George] Will you go, please?

George.  I will go when you do.

Malise.  A man of the world should know better than that.

George.  Are you coming?

Malise.  That is inconceivable.

George.  I’m not speaking to you, sir.

Malise.  You are right.  Your words and mine will never kiss each other.

George.  Will you come? [Clare shakes her head]

George. [With fury] D’you mean to stay in this pigsty with that rhapsodical swine?

Malise. [Transformed] By God, if you don’t go, I’ll kill you.

George. [As suddenly calm] That remains to be seen.

Malise. [With most deadly quietness] Yes, I will kill you.

     He goes stealthily along the wall, takes up from where it lies
     on the pile of books the great black knobby stick, and
     stealthily approaches George, his face quite fiendish.

Clare. [With a swift movement, grasping the stick] Please.

Malise resigns the stick, and the two men, perfectly still, glare at each other.  Clare, letting the stick fall, puts her foot on it.  Then slowly she takes off her hat and lays it on the table.

Clare.  Now will you go! [There is silence]