[Jones remains silent, with his head bend down.]

Well then, Missis.  I ’ll just trouble you to come along with me quietly.

Mrs. Jones. [Twisting her hands.] Of course I would n’t say I had n’t taken it if I had—­and I did n’t take it, indeed I did n’t.  Of course I know appearances are against me, and I can’t tell you what really happened:  But my children are at school, and they’ll be coming home—­and I don’t know what they’ll do without me.

Snow.  Your ’usband’ll see to them, don’t you worry. [He takes the woman gently by the arm.]

Jones.  You drop it—­she’s all right! [Sullenly.] I took the thing myself.

Snow. [Eyeing him] There, there, it does you credit.  Come along, Missis.

Jones. [Passionately.] Drop it, I say, you blooming teck.  She’s my wife; she ’s a respectable woman.  Take her if you dare!

Snow.  Now, now.  What’s the good of this?  Keep a civil tongue, and it’ll be the better for all of us.

     [He puts his whistle in his mouth and draws the woman to the
     door.]

Jones. [With a rush.] Drop her, and put up your ’ands, or I ’ll soon make yer.  You leave her alone, will yer!  Don’t I tell yer, I took the thing myself.

Snow. [Blowing his whistle.] Drop your hands, or I ’ll take you too.  Ah, would you?

     [Jones, closing, deals him a blow.  A Policeman in uniform
     appears; there is a short struggle and Jones is overpowered. 
     Mrs. Jones raises her hands avid drops her face on them.]

The curtain falls.

SCENE II

     The BARTHWICKS’ dining-room the same evening.  The BARTHWICKS
     are seated at dessert.

Mrs. Barthwick.  John! [A silence broken by the cracking of nuts.] John!

Barthwick.  I wish you’d speak about the nuts they’re uneatable. [He puts one in his mouth.]

Mrs. Barthwick.  It’s not the season for them.  I called on the Holyroods.

     [Barthwick fills his glass with port.]

Jack.  Crackers, please, Dad.

     [Barthwick passes the crackers.  His demeanour is reflective.]

Mrs. Barthwick.  Lady Holyrood has got very stout.  I ’ve noticed it coming for a long time.

Barthwick. [Gloomily.] Stout? [He takes up the crackers—­with transparent airiness.] The Holyroods had some trouble with their servants, had n’t they?

Jack.  Crackers, please, Dad.

Barthwick. [Passing the crackers.] It got into the papers.  The cook, was n’t it?

Mrs. Barthwick.  No, the lady’s maid.  I was talking it over with Lady Holyrood.  The girl used to have her young man to see her.