Sir Charles.  What!  Aren’t we goin’ to get a game? [Paynter has entered with a tray.]

George.  Paynter!  Take that table into the dining room.

Paynter. [Putting down the tray on a table behind the door] Yes, sir.

Malise.  Let me give you a hand.

     Paynter and Malise carry one of the Bridge tables out, George
     making a half-hearted attempt to relieve Malise.

Sir Charles.  Very fine sunset!

     Quite softly Clare begins to laugh.  All look at her first with
     surprise, then with offence, then almost with horror.  George is
     about to go up to her, but Huntingdon heads him off.

Huntingdon.  Bring the tray along, old man.

     George takes up the tray, stops to look at Clare, then allows
     Huntingdon to shepherd him out.

Lady Dedmond. [Without looking at Clare] Well, if we’re going to play, Charles? [She jerks his sleeve.]

Sir Charles.  What? [He marches out.]

Lady Dedmond. [Meeting Malise in the doorway] Now you will be able to have your music.

     [She follows the general out]

     [Clare stands perfectly still, with her eyes closed.]

Malise.  Delicious!

Clare. [In her level, clipped voice] Perfectly beastly of me!  I’m so sorry.  I simply can’t help running amok to-night.

Malise.  Never apologize for being fey.  It’s much too rare.

Clare.  On the door-mat!  And they’d whitewashed me so beautifully!  Poor dears!  I wonder if I ought——­[She looks towards the door.]

Malise.  Don’t spoil it!

Clare.  I’d been walking up and down the Embankment for about three hours.  One does get desperate sometimes.

Malise.  Thank God for that!

Clare.  Only makes it worse afterwards.  It seems so frightful to them, too.

Malise. [Softly and suddenly, but with a difficulty in finding the right words] Blessed be the respectable!  May they dream of—­me!  And blessed be all men of the world!  May they perish of a surfeit of—­good form!

Clare.  I like that.  Oh, won’t there be a row! [With a faint movement of her shoulders] And the usual reconciliation.

Malise.  Mrs. Dedmond, there’s a whole world outside yours.  Why don’t you spread your wings?

Clare.  My dear father’s a saint, and he’s getting old and frail; and I’ve got a sister engaged; and three little sisters to whom I’m supposed to set a good example.  Then, I’ve no money, and I can’t do anything for a living, except serve in a shop.  I shouldn’t be free, either; so what’s the good?  Besides, I oughtn’t to have married if I wasn’t going to be happy.  You see, I’m not a bit misunderstood or ill-treated.  It’s only——­