[He goes to his daughter, and they pass out.  Ferrand remains at the picture.  Mrs. Megan dressed in some of ANN’s discarded garments, has come out of the model’s room.  She steals up behind Ferrand like a cat, reaches an arm up, and curls it round his mouth.  He turns, and tries to seize her; she disingenuously slips away.  He follows.  The chase circles the tea table.  He catches her, lifts her up, swings round with her, so that her feet fly out; kisses her bent-back face, and sets her down.  She stands there smiling.  The face at the window darkens.]

Ferrand.  La Valse!

[He takes her with both hands by the waist, she puts her hands against his shoulders to push him of—­and suddenly they are whirling.  As they whirl, they bob together once or twice, and kiss.  Then, with a warning motion towards the door, she wrenches herself free, and stops beside the picture, trying desperately to appear demure.  Wellwyn and Ann have entered.  The face has vanished.]

Ferrand. [Pointing to the picture.] One does not comprehend all this, Monsieur, without well studying.  I was in train to interpret for Ma’moiselle the chiaroscuro.

Wellwyn. [With a queer look.] Don’t take it too seriously, Ferrand.

Ferrand.  It is a masterpiece.

Wellwyn.  My daughter’s just spoken to a friend, Professor Calway. 
He’d like to meet you.  Could you come back a little later?

Ferrand.  Certainly, Ma’moiselle.  That will be an opening for me, I trust. [He goes to the street door.]

Ann. [Paying no attention to him.] Mrs. Megan, will you too come back in half an hour?

Ferrand.  ‘Tres bien, Ma’moiselle’!  I will see that she does.  We will take a little promenade together.  That will do us good.

     [He motions towards the door; Mrs. Megan, all eyes, follows him
     out.]

Ann.  Oh!  Daddy, they are rotters.  Couldn’t you see they were having the most high jinks?

Wellwyn. [At his picture.] I seemed to have noticed something.

Ann. [Preparing for tea.] They were kissing.

Wellwyn.  Tt!  Tt!

Ann.  They’re hopeless, all three—­especially her.  Wish I hadn’t given her my clothes now.

Wellwyn. [Absorbed.] Something of wild-savage.

Ann.  Thank goodness it’s the Vicar’s business to see that married people live together in his parish.

Wellwyn.  Oh! [Dubiously.] The Megans are Roman Catholic-Atheists,
Ann.

Ann. [With heat.] Then they’re all the more bound. [Wellwyn gives a sudden and alarmed whistle.]

Ann.  What’s the matter?

Wellwyn.  Didn’t you say you spoke to Sir Thomas, too.  Suppose he comes in while the Professor’s here.  They’re cat and dog.