s clenched fist.

CURTAIN.

ACT III

MALISE'S sitting-room. An afternoon, three months later.
On the table are an open bottle of claret, his hat, and some
tea-things. Down in the hearth is a kettle on a lighted
spirit-stand. Near the door stands HAYWOOD, a short, round-faced
man, with a tobacco-coloured moustache; MALISE, by the table, is
contemplating a piece of blue paper.

HAYWOOD. Sorry to press an old customer, sir, but a year and an 'alf
without any return on your money----

MALISE. Your tobacco is too good, Mr. Haywood. I wish I could see
my way to smoking another.

HAYWOOD. Well, sir--that's a funny remedy.

With a knock on the half-opened door, a Boy appears.

MALISE. Yes. What is it?

BOY. Your copy for "The Watchfire," please, sir.

MALISE. [Motioning him out] Yes. Wait!

The Boy withdraws. MALISE goes up to the pile of books, turns
them over, and takes up some volumes.

MALISE. This is a very fine unexpurgated translation of Boccaccio's
"Decameron," Mr. Haywood illustrated. I should say you would get
more than the amount of your bill for them.

HAYWOOD. [Shaking his head] Them books worth three pound seven!

MALISE. It's scarce, and highly improper. Will you take them in
discharge?

HAYWOOD. [Torn between emotions] Well, I 'ardly know what to say--
No, Sir, I don't think I'd like to 'ave to do with that.

MALISE. You could read them first, you know?

HAYWOOD. [Dubiously] I've got my wife at 'ome.

MALISE. You could both read them.

HAYWOOD. [Brought to his bearings] No, Sir, I couldn't.

MALISE. Very well; I'll sell them myself, and you shall have the
result.

HAYWOOD. Well, thank you, sir. I'm sure I didn't want to trouble
you.

MALISE. Not at all, Mr. Haywood. It's for me to apologize.

HAYWOOD. So long as I give satisfaction.

MALISE. [Holding the door for him] Certainly. Good evening.

HAYWOOD. Good evenin', sir; no offence, I hope.

MALISE. On the contrary.

Doubtfully HAYWOOD goes. And MALISE stands scratching his head;
then slipping the bill into one of the volumes to remind him, he
replaces them at the top of the pile. The Boy again advances
into the doorway.

MALISE. Yes, now for you.

He goes to the table and takes some sheets of MS. from an old
portfolio. But the door is again timidly pushed open, and