Rolf.  How’s the head?

Chloe.  Beastly, thanks.  I’m not going into dinner.

Rolf.  Is there anything I can do for you?

Chloe.  No, dear boy. [Suddenly looking at him] You don’t want this quarrel with the Hillcrists to go on, do you, Rolf?

Rolf.  No; I hate it.

Chloe.  Well, I think I might be able to stop it.  Will you slip round to Dawker’s—­it’s not five minutes—­and ask him to come and see me.

Rolf.  Father and Charlie wouldn’t——­

Chloe.  I know.  But if he comes to the window here while you’re at dinner, I’ll let him in, and out, and nobody’d know.

Rolf. [Astonished] Yes, but what I mean how——­

Chloe.  Don’t ask me.  It’s worth the shot that’s all. [Looking at her wrist-watch] To this window at eight o’clock exactly.  First long window on the terrace, tell him.

Rolf.  It’s nothing Charlie would mind?

Chloe.  No; only I can’t tell him—­he and father are so mad about it all.

Rolf.  If there’s a real chance——­

Chloe. [Going to the window and opening it] This way, Rolf.  If you don’t come back I shall know he’s coming.  Put your watch by mine. [Looking at his watch] It’s a minute fast, see!

Rolf.  Look here, Chloe

Chloe.  Don’t wait; go on.

[She almost pushes him out through the window, closes it after him, draws the curtains again, stands a minute, thinking hard; goes to the bell and rings it; then, crossing to the writing table, Right Back, she takes out a chemist’s prescription.]

     [Anna comes in.]

Chloe.  I don’t want that champagne.  Take this to the chemist and get him to make up some of these cachets quick, and bring them back yourself.

Anna.  Yes, ma’am; but you have some.

Chloe.  They’re too old; I’ve taken two—­the strength’s out of them. 
Quick, please; I can’t stand this head.

Anna. [Taking the prescription—­with her smile] Yes, ma’am.  It’ll take some time—­you don’t want me?

Chloe.  No; I want the cachets.

     [Anna goes out.]

[Chloe looks at her wrist-watch, goes to the writing-table, which is old-fashioned, with a secret drawer, looks round her, dives at the secret drawer, takes out a roll of notes and a tissue paper parcel.  She counts the notes:  “Three hundred.”  Slips them into her breast and unwraps the little parcel.  It contains pears.  She slips them, too, into her dress, looks round startled, replaces the drawer, and regains her place on the sofa, lying prostrate as the door opens, and Hornblower comes in.  She does not open her ages, and he stands looking at her a moment before speaking.]

Hornblower. [Almost softly] How are ye feelin’.  Chloe?