Poulder.  He is.  Follow me.

     [He moves towards the doors, the three workers follow.]

Mrs. Ann. [Stopping before James] You ’yn’t one, I suppose? [James stirs no muscle.]

Poulder.  Now please. [He opens the doors.  The Voice of lord William speaking is heard] Pass in.

     [The three workers pass in, Poulder and James follow them.  The
     doors are not closed, and through this aperture comes the voice
     of lord William, punctuated and supported by decorous applause.]

     [Little Anne runs in, and listens at the window to the confused
     and distant murmurs of a crowd.]

Voice of lord W. We propose to move for a further advance in the chain-making and—­er—­er—­match-box industries. [Applause.]

     [Little Anne runs across to the door, to listen.]

[On rising voice] I would conclude with some general remarks.  Ladies and gentlemen, the great natural, but—­er—­artificial expansion which trade experienced the first years after the war has—­ er—­collapsed.  These are hard times.  We who are fortunate feel more than ever—­er—­responsible—­[He stammers, loses the thread of his thoughts.]—­[Applause]—­er—­responsible—­[The thread still eludes him]—­er——­

L. Anne. [Poignantly] Oh, Daddy!

Lord W. [Desperately] In fact—­er—­you know how—­er—­responsible we feel.

L. Anne.  Hooray! [Applause.]

     [There float in through the windows the hoarse and distant
     sounds of the Marseillaise, as sung by London voices.]

Lord W. There is a feeling in the air—­that I for one should say deliberately was—­er—­a feeling in the air—­er—­a feeling in the air——­

L. Anne. [Agonised] Oh, Daddy!  Stop!

     [Jane enters, and closes the door behind him.  James.  Look
     here!  ’Ave I got to report you to Miss Stokes?]

L. Anne.  No-o-o!

James.  Well, I’m goin’ to.

L. Anne.  Oh, James, be a friend to me!  I’ve seen nothing yet.

James.  No; but you’ve eaten a good bit, on the stairs.  What price that Peach Melba?

L. Anne.  I can’t go to bed till I’ve digested it can I?  There’s such a lovely crowd in the street!

James.  Lovely?  Ho!

L. Anne. [Wheedling] James, you couldn’t tell Miss Stokes!  It isn’t in you, is it?

James. [Grinning] That’s right.

L. Anne.  So-I’ll just get under here. [She gets under the table]
Do I show?

James. [Stooping] Not ’arf!

     [Poulder enters from the hall.]

Poulder.  What are you doin’ there?