and I'm not going to fall in with them. [_Puts the bill on the
table rather angrily, takes up another, reads._] "Artistic lingerie!" I
wonder why all these people call themselves artists! "Underwear of
daintiness and distinction."

_Dolly._ Well, you've always praised----

_Harry._ Yes. In future, I'm going to be very careful what articles of
your dress I praise. "Three pairs of blue silk garters, forty-five
shillings." [_She has settled herself in the armchair, looking a little
sulky and obstinate, leaning back and pettishly swinging one leg over
the other._] What have you got to say to that?

_Dolly._ Garters are necessary.

_Harry._ Yes, but why three? And why blue silk? Why don't you speak?

_Dolly._ The garters can speak for themselves!

_Harry._ Very well. Garters that can speak for themselves can pay for
themselves! [_Dashes the bill on the table, takes up another. Reading._]
Three bottles coeur de Janette--three bottles Souffle de
Marguerite--fifteen pounds for scent--and I have to smoke sixpenny
cigars! And sometimes only fourpenny!

_Dolly._ Well, if you will smoke those horrid strong things you can't
wonder I have to disinfect the house for you.

_Harry._ Disinfect the house _for_ me! You'll very soon disinfect the
house _of_ me! [_Glances through the remaining bills, groans, puts them
on the table, and walks about in despair._ DOLLY _rises and is going
off._] Where are you going?

_Dolly._ To bed.

_Harry._ [_Stopping her._] No! Now we've begun, we'll go through to the
bitter end, if you please. I want you to explain----

_Dolly._ My dear Harry, it will be quite useless for me to try to
explain in your present state----

_Harry._ [_Getting furious._] In my present state----

_Dolly._ Dancing about the room and shouting!----

_Harry._ I'm not shouting!

_Dolly._ You're not shouting?!

_Harry._ No, and if I am, isn't it enough to make a man shout when his
wife----

MATT _appears at the door in his dressing-gown and slippers._

_Matt._ Excuse my interrupting. But you know my room is just above this,
and if you could manage to pitch your voices in rather a softer key----

_Harry._ By Jove, I'd forgotten! We were getting a little noisy. I'm
awfully sorry.

_Matt._ Don't mention it! The Professor gave me rather a stiff go of his
Pableine, and I fancy it hasn't agreed with me [_tapping his chest_] for
I can't get a wink of sleep. Is there a spoonful of whiskey about?

_Harry._ On the