'd get in if he
did sell carpets!

WINSOR. He's got some pretty good horses. [Taking off his waistcoat]
Ronny Dancy's on his bones again, I'm afraid. He had a bad day. When a
chap takes to doing parlour stunts for a bet--it's a sure sign. What
made him chuck the Army?

LADY A. He says it's too dull, now there's no fighting.

WINSOR. Well, he can't exist on backing losers.

LADY A. Isn't it just like him to get married now? He really is the
most reckless person.

WINSOR. Yes. He's a queer chap. I've always liked him, but I've never
quite made him out. What do you think of his wife?

LADY A. Nice child; awfully gone on him.

WINSOR. Is he?

LADY A. Quite indecently--both of them. [Nodding towards the wall,
Left] They're next door.

WINSOR. Who's beyond them?

LADY A. De Levis; and Margaret Orme at the end. Charlie, do you realise
that the bathroom out there has to wash those four?

WINSOR. I know.

LADY A. Your grandfather was crazy when he built this wing; six rooms in
a row with balconies like an hotel, and only one bath--if we hadn't put
ours in.

WINSOR. [Looking at his watch] Half-past eleven. [Yawns] Newmarket
always makes me sleepy. You're keeping Morison up.

LADY ADELA goes to the door, blowing a kiss. CHARLES goes up to his
dressing-table and begins to brush his hair, sprinkling on essence.
There is a knock on the corridor door.

Come in.

DE LEVIS enters, clad in pyjamas and flowered dressing-gown. He is
a dark, good-looking, rather Eastern young man. His face is long
and disturbed.

Hallo! De Levis! Anything I can do for you?

DE LEVIS. [In a voice whose faint exoticism is broken by a vexed
excitement] I say, I'm awfully sorry, Winsor, but I thought I'd better
tell you at once. I've just had--er--rather a lot of money stolen.

WINSOR. What! [There is something of outrage in his tone and glance, as
who should say: "In my house?"] How do you mean stolen?

DE LEVIS. I put it under my pillow and went to have a bath; when I came
back it was gone.

WINSOR. Good Lord! How much?

DE LEVIS. Nearly a thousand-nine hundred and seventy, I think.

WINSOR. Phew! [Again the faint tone of outrage, that a man should have
so much money about him].

DE LEVIS. I sold my Rosemary filly to-day on the course to Bentman the
bookie, and he paid me in notes.

WINSOR. What? That weed Dancy gave you in the Spring?

DE LEVIS.