Poulder.  Look here, James!  I can’t go on in this revolutionary spirit; either you or I resign.

James.  Crisis in the Cabinet!

Poulder.  I give you your marchin’ orders.

James. [Ineffably] What’s that you give me?

Poulder.  Thomas, remove James!

     [Thomas grins.]

L. Anne. [Who, with open mouth, has crept out to see the fun] Oh! 
Do remove James, Thomas!

Poulder.  Go on, Thomas.

     [Thomas takes one step towards James, who lays a hand on the
     Chinese mat covering the bomb.]

James. [Grimly] If I lose control of meself.

L. Anne. [Clapping her hands] Oh!  James!  Do lose control!  Then I shall see it go off!

James. [To Poulder] Well, I’ll merely empty the pail over you!

Poulder.  This is not becomin’!

     [He walks out into the hall.]

James.  Another strategic victory!  What a Boche he’d have made.  As you were, Tommy!

     [Thomas returns to the door.  The sound of prolonged applause
     cornea from within.]

That’s a bishop.

L. Anne.  Why?

James.  By the way he’s drawin’.  It’s the fine fightin’ spirit in ‘em.  They were the backbone o’ the war.  I see there’s a bit o’ the old stuff left in you, Tommy.

L. Anne. [Scrutinizing the widely—­grinning Thom] Where?  Is it in his mouth?

James.  You’ve still got a sense of your superiors.  Didn’t you notice how you moved to Poulder’s orders, me boy; an’ when he was gone, to mine?

L. Anne. [To Thomas] March!

     [The grinning Thomas remains immovable.]

He doesn’t, James!

James.  Look here, Miss Anne—­your lights ought to be out before ten. 
Close in, Tommy!

     [He and Thomas move towards her.]

L. Anne. [Dodging] Oh, no!  Oh, no!  Look!

     [The footmen stop and turn.  There between the pillars, stands
     little Aida with the trousers, her face brilliant With
     surprise.]

James.  Good Lord!  What’s this?

     [Seeing L. Anne, little Aida approaches, fascinated, and the two
     children sniff at each other as it were like two little dogs
     walking round and round.]

L. Anne. [Suddenly] My name’s Anne; what’s yours?

L. Aida.  Aida.

L. Anne.  Are you lost?

L. Aida.  Nao.

L. Anne.  Are those trousers?

L. Aida.  Yus.

L. Arms.  Whose?

L. Aida.  Mrs. Lemmy’s.

L. Anne.  Does she wear them?