Annie.  Thank you, ma’am.

     She turns and hurries out into the kitchen, Left.  Builder gazes
     after her, and Mrs builder gazes at builder with her faint smile.

Builder. [After the girl is gone] Quaint and Dutch—­pretty little figure! [Staring round] H’m!  Extraordinary girls are!  Fancy Athene preferring this to home.  What?

Mrs builder.  I didn’t say anything.

Builder. [Placing a chair for his wife, and sitting down himself] Well, we must wait, I suppose.  Confound that Nixon legacy!  If Athene hadn’t had that potty little legacy left her, she couldn’t have done this.  Well, I daresay it’s all spent by now.  I made a mistake to lose my temper with her.

Mrs builder.  Isn’t it always a mistake to lose one’s temper?

Builder.  That’s very nice and placid; sort of thing you women who live sheltered lives can say.  I often wonder if you women realise the strain on a business man.

Mrs builder. [In her softly ironical voice] It seems a shame to add the strain of family life.

Builder.  You’ve always been so passive.  When I want a thing, I’ve got to have it.

Mrs builder.  I’ve noticed that.

Builder. [With a short laugh] Odd if you hadn’t, in twenty-three years. [Touching a canvas standing against the chair with his toe] Art!  Just a pretext.  We shall be having Maud wanting to cut loose next.  She’s very restive.  Still, I oughtn’t to have had that scene with Athene.  I ought to have put quiet pressure.

     Mrs builder Smiles.

Builder.  What are you smiling at?

     Mrs builder shrugs her shoulders.

Look at this—­Cigarettes! [He examines the brand on the box] Strong, very—­and not good! [He opens the door] Kitchen! [He shuts it, crosses, and opens the door, Right] Bedroom!

Mrs builder. [To his disappearing form] Do you think you ought, John?

     He has disappeared, and she ends with an expressive movement of her
     hands, a long sigh, and a closing of her eyes.  Builder’s peremptory
     voice is heard:  “Julia!”

What now?

     She follows into the bedroom.  The maid Annie puts her head out of
     the kitchen door; she comes out a step as if to fly; then, at
     Builder’s voice, shrinks back into the kitchen.

Builder, reappearing with a razor strop in one hand and a shaving-brush in the other, is followed by Mrs builder.

Builder.  Explain these!  My God!  Where’s that girl?

Mrs builder.  John!  Don’t! [Getting between him and the kitchen door]
It’s not dignified.

Builder.  I don’t care a damn.