Maud. [Subduing her lips] Yes; but—­

Topping.  You see, then you’ve got ’em on you.

Maud.  But that’s just the point.  Shouldn’t I naturally think:  Safer in my bag; then I can pretend somebody put them there.  You see, nobody could put them on me.

Topping.  Well, I should say that depends on your character.  Of course I don’t know what your character is.

Maud.  No; that’s the beastly part of it—­the author doesn’t, either.  It’s all left to me.

Topping.  In that case, I should please myself, Miss.  To put ’em in ’ere’s warmer.

Maud.  Yes, I think you’re right.  It’s more human.

Topping.  I didn’t know you ’ad a taste this way, Miss Maud.

Maud.  More than a taste, Topping—­a talent.

Topping.  Well, in my belief, we all have a vice about us somewhere.  But if I were you, Miss, I wouldn’t touch bettin’, not with this other on you.  You might get to feel a bit crowded.

Maud.  Well, then, only put the ten bob on if you’re sure he’s going to win.  You can post the money on after me.  I’ll send you an address, Topping, because I shan’t be here.

Topping. [Disturbed] What!  You’re not going, too, Miss Maud?

Maud.  To seek my fortune.

Topping.  Oh!  Hang it all, Miss, think of what you’ll leave behind.  Miss Athene’s leavin’ home has made it pretty steep, but this’ll touch bottom—­this will.

Maud.  Yes; I expect you’ll find it rather difficult for a bit when I’m gone.  Miss Baldini, you know.  I’ve been studying with her.  She’s got me this chance with the movie people.  I’m going on trial as the guilty typist in “The Heartache of Miranda.”

Topping. [Surprised out of politeness] Well, I never!  That does sound like ’em!  Are you goin’ to tell the guv’nor, Miss?

     Maud nods.  In that case, I think I’ll be gettin’ off to my dentist
     before the band plays.

Maud.  All right, Topping; hope you won’t lose a tooth.

Topping. [With a grin] It’s on the knees of the gods, Miss, as they say in the headlines.

     He goes.  Maud stretches herself and listens.

Maud.  I believe that’s them.  Shivery funky.

     She runs off up Left.

Builder. [Entering from the hall and crossing to the fireplace] Monstrous!  Really monstrous!

     Camille enters from the hall.  She has a little collecting book in
     her hand.

Builder.  Well, Camille?

Camille.  A sistare from the Sacred ’Eart, Monsieur—­her little book for the orphan children.

Builder.  I can’t be bothered—­What is it?

Camille.  Orphan, Monsieur.