them.  His bearing has force and importance, as of a man accustomed to rising and ownerships, sure in his opinions, and not lacking in geniality when things go his way.  Essentially a Midlander.  His wife, a woman of forty-one, of ivory tint, with a thin, trim figure and a face so strangely composed as to be almost like a mask (essentially from Jersey) is putting a nib into a pen-holder, and filling an inkpot at the writing-table.

As the curtain rises Camille enters with a rather broken-down cardboard box containing flowers.  She is a young woman with a good figure, a pale face, the warm brown eyes and complete poise of a Frenchwoman.  She takes the box to Mrs builder.

Mrs builder.  The blue vase, please, Camille. 
     Camille fetches a vase.  Mrs builder puts the flowers into the vase. 
     Camille gathers up the debris; and with a glance at builder goes
     out.

Builder.  Glorious October!  I ought to have a damned good day’s shooting with Chantrey tomorrow.

Mrs builder. [Arranging the flowers] Aren’t you going to the office this morning?

Builder.  Well, no, I was going to take a couple of days off.  If you feel at the top of your form, take a rest—­then you go on feeling at the top. [He looks at her, as if calculating] What do you say to looking up Athene?

Mrs builder. [Palpably astonished] Athene?  But you said you’d done with her?

Builder. [Smiling] Six weeks ago; but, dash it, one can’t have done with one’s own daughter.  That’s the weakness of an Englishman; he can’t keep up his resentments.  In a town like this it doesn’t do to have her living by herself.  One of these days it’ll get out we’ve had a row.  That wouldn’t do me any good.

Mrs builder.  I see.

Builder.  Besides, I miss her.  Maud’s so self-absorbed.  It makes a big hole in the family, Julia.  You’ve got her address, haven’t you?

Mrs builder.  Yes. [Very still] But do you think it’s dignified, John?

Builder. [Genially] Oh, hang dignity!  I rather pride myself on knowing when to stand on my dignity and when to sit on it.  If she’s still crazy about Art, she can live at home, and go out to study.

Mrs builder.  Her craze was for liberty.

Builder.  A few weeks’ discomfort soon cures that.  She can’t live on her pittance.  She’ll have found that out by now.  Get your things on and come with me at twelve o’clock.

Mrs builder.  I think you’ll regret it.  She’ll refuse.

Builder.  Not if I’m nice to her.  A child could play with me to-day. 
Shall I tell you a secret, Julia?

Mrs builder.  It would be pleasant for a change.