Mrs Bridgenorth, her placidity quite upset, comes in with a letter; hurries past Collins; and comes between Lesbia and the General.

Mrs Bridgenorth.  Lesbia:  Boxer:  heres a pretty mess!

Collins goes out discreetly.

The general.  Whats the matter?

Mrs Bridgenorth.  Reginald’s in London, and wants to come to the wedding.

The general [stupended] Well, dash my buttons!

Lesbia.  Oh, all right, let him come.

The general.  Let him come!  Why, the decree has not been made absolute yet.  Is he to walk in here to Edith’s wedding, reeking from the Divorce Court?

Mrs Bridgenorth [vexedly sitting down in the middle chair] It’s too bad.  No:  I cant forgive him, Lesbia, really.  A man of Reginald’s age, with a young wife—­the best of girls, and as pretty as she can be—­to go off with a common woman from the streets!  Ugh!

Lesbia.  You must make allowances.  What can you expect?  Reginald was always weak.  He was brought up to be weak.  The family property was all mortgaged when he inherited it.  He had to struggle along in constant money difficulties, hustled by his solicitors, morally bullied by the Barmecide, and physically bullied by Boxer, while they two were fighting their own way and getting well trained.  You know very well he couldnt afford to marry until the mortgages were cleared and he was over fifty.  And then of course he made a fool of himself marrying a child like Leo.

The general.  But to hit her!  Absolutely to hit her!  He knocked her down—­knocked her flat down on a flowerbed in the presence of his gardener.  He! the head of the family! the man that stands before the Barmecide and myself as Bridgenorth of Bridgenorth! to beat his wife and go off with a low woman and be divorced for it in the face of all England! in the face of my uniform and Alfred’s apron!  I can never forget what I felt:  it was only the King’s personal request—­virtually a command—­that stopped me from resigning my commission.  I’d cut Reginald dead if I met him in the street.

Mrs Bridgenorth.  Besides, Leo’s coming.  Theyd meet.  It’s impossible, Lesbia.

Lesbia.  Oh, I forgot that.  That settles it.  He mustnt come.

The general.  Of course he mustnt.  You tell him that if he enters this house, I’ll leave it; and so will every decent man and woman in it.

Collins [returning for a moment to announce] Mr Reginald, maam. [He withdraws when Reginald enters].

The general [beside himself] Well, dash my buttons!!

Reginald is just the man Lesbia has described.  He is hardened and tough physically, and hasty and boyish in his manner and speech, belonging as he does to the large class of English gentlemen of property (solicitor-managed) who have never developed intellectually since their schooldays.  He is a muddled, rebellious, hasty, untidy, forgetful, always late sort of man, who very evidently needs the care of a capable woman, and has never been lucky or attractive enough to get it.  All the same, a likeable man, from whom nobody apprehends any malice nor expects any achievement.  In everything but years he is younger than his brother the General.