Lady A. Aren’t you rather prejudiced?

Winsor.  Not a bit.  I like Jews.  That’s not against him—­rather the contrary these days.  But he pushes himself.  The General tells me he’s deathly keen to get into the Jockey Club. [Taking off his tie] It’s amusing to see him trying to get round old St Erth.

Lady A. If Lord St Erth and General Canynge backed him he’d get in if he did sell carpets!

Winsor.  He’s got some pretty good horses. [Taking off his waistcoat] Ronny Dancy’s on his bones again, I’m afraid.  He had a bad day.  When a chap takes to doing parlour stunts for a bet—­it’s a sure sign.  What made him chuck the Army?

Lady A. He says it’s too dull, now there’s no fighting.

Winsor.  Well, he can’t exist on backing losers.

Lady A. Isn’t it just like him to get married now?  He really is the most reckless person.

Winsor.  Yes.  He’s a queer chap.  I’ve always liked him, but I’ve never quite made him out.  What do you think of his wife?

Lady A. Nice child; awfully gone on him.

Winsor.  Is he?

Lady A. Quite indecently—­both of them. [Nodding towards the wall,
Left] They’re next door.

Winsor.  Who’s beyond them?

Lady A. De Levis; and Margaret Orme at the end.  Charlie, do you realise that the bathroom out there has to wash those four?

Winsor.  I know.

Lady A. Your grandfather was crazy when he built this wing; six rooms in a row with balconies like an hotel, and only one bath—­if we hadn’t put ours in.

Winsor. [Looking at his watch] Half-past eleven. [Yawns] Newmarket always makes me sleepy.  You’re keeping Morison up.

     Lady Adela goes to the door, blowing a kiss.  Charles goes up to his
     dressing-table and begins to brush his hair, sprinkling on essence. 
     There is a knock on the corridor door.

Come in.

     De Levis enters, clad in pyjamas and flowered dressing-gown.  He is
     a dark, good-looking, rather Eastern young man.  His face is long
     and disturbed.

Hallo!  De Levis!  Anything I can do for you?

De Levis. [In a voice whose faint exoticism is broken by a vexed excitement] I say, I’m awfully sorry, Winsor, but I thought I’d better tell you at once.  I’ve just had—­er—­rather a lot of money stolen.

Winsor.  What! [There is something of outrage in his tone and glance, as who should say:  “In my house?”] How do you mean stolen?

De Levis.  I put it under my pillow and went to have a bath; when I came back it was gone.

Winsor.  Good Lord!  How much?

De Levis.  Nearly a thousand-nine hundred and seventy, I think.