James. [Grimly] Ah!  ’Cept that you couldn’t lay your ’and on a bottle o’ port when you wanted one.

L. Anne.  Do you, when you want it, here?

James. [On guard] I only suggest it’s possible.

L. Anne.  Perhaps Poulder does.

James. [Icily] I say nothin’ about that.

L. Anne.  Oh!  Do say something!

James.  I’m ashamed of you, Miss Anne, pumpin’ me!

L. Anne. [Reproachfully] I’m not pumpin’!  I only want to make
Poulder jump when I ask him.

James. [Grinning] Try it on your own responsibility, then; don’t bring me in!

L. Anne. [Switching off] James, do you think there’s going to be a bloody revolution?

James. [Shocked] I shouldn’t use that word, at your age.

L. Anne.  Why not?  Daddy used it this morning to Mother. [Imitating] “The country’s in an awful state, darling; there’s going to be a bloody revolution, and we shall all be blown sky-high.”  Do you like Daddy?

James. [Taken aback] Like Lord William?  What do you think?  We chaps would ha’ done anything for him out there in the war.

L. Anne.  He never says that he always says he’d have done anything for you!

James.  Well—­that’s the same thing.

L. Anne.  It isn’t—­it’s the opposite.  What is class hatred, James?

James. [Wisely] Ah!  A lot o’ people thought when the war was over there’d be no more o’ that. [He sniggers] Used to amuse me to read in the papers about the wonderful unity that was comin’.  I could ha’ told ’em different.

L. Anne.  Why should people hate?  I like everybody.

James.  You know such a lot o’ people, don’t you?

L. Anne.  Well, Daddy likes everybody, and Mother likes everybody, except the people who don’t like Daddy.  I bar Miss Stokes, of course; but then, who wouldn’t?

James. [With a touch of philosophy] That’s right—­we all bars them that tries to get something out of us.

L. Anne.  Who do you bar, James?

James.  Well—­[Enjoying the luxury of thought]—­Speaking generally, I bar everybody that looks down their noses at me.  Out there in the trenches, there’d come a shell, and orf’d go some orficer’s head, an’ I’d think:  That might ha’ been me—­we’re all equal in the sight o’ the stars.  But when I got home again among the torfs, I says to meself:  Out there, ye know, you filled a hole as well as me; but here you’ve put it on again, with mufti.

L. Anne.  James, are your breeches made of mufti?

James. [Contemplating his legs with a certain contempt] Ah!  Footmen were to ha’ been off; but Lord William was scared we wouldn’t get jobs in the rush.  We’re on his conscience, and it’s on my conscience that I’ve been on his long enough—­so, now I’ve saved a bit, I’m goin’ to take meself orf it.