covers her eyes with them, drops them with a quick
gesture, and looks round her. A knock. With a swift movement
she slides on to the sofa, and lies prostrate, with eyes
closed.

CHLOE. [Feebly] Come in!

[Her Maid enters; a trim, contained figure of uncertain years,
in a black dress, with the face which was peering in.]

Yes, Anna?

ANNA. Aren't you going in to dinner, ma'am?

CHLOE. [With closed eyes] No.

ANNA. Will you take anything here, ma'am?

CHLOE. I'd like a biscuit and a glass of champagne.

[The MAID, who is standing between sofa and door, smiles.
CHLOE, with a swift look, catches the smile.]

Why do you smile?

ANNA. Was I, ma'am?

CHLOE. You know you were. [Fiercely] Are you paid to smile at me?

ANNA. [Immovable] No, ma'am, Would you like some eau de Cologne on
your forehead?

CHLOE. Yes.--No.--What's the good? [Clasping her forehead] My
headache won't go.

ANNA. To keep lying down's the best thing for it.

CHLOE. I have been--hours.

ANNA. [With the smile] Yes, ma'am.

CHLOE. [Gathering herself up on the sofa] Anna! Why do you do it?

ANNA. Do what, ma'am?

CHLOE. Spy on me.

ANNA. I--never! I----!

CHLOE. To spy! You're a fool, too. What is there to spy on?

ANNA. Nothing, ma'am. Of course, if you're not satisfied with me,
I must give notice. Only--if I were spying, I should expect to have
notice given me. I've been accustomed to ladies who wouldn't stand
such a thing for a minute.

CHLOE: [Intently] Well, you'll take a month's wages and go
tomorrow. And that's all, now.

[ANNA inclines her head and goes out.]

[CHLOE, with a sort of moan, turns over and buries her face in
the cushion.]

CHLOE. [Sitting up] If I could see that man--if only--or Dawker---

[She springs up and goes to the door, but hesitates, and comes
back to the head of the sofa, as ROLF comes in. During this
scene the door is again opened stealthily, an inch or too.]

ROLF. How's the head?

CHLOE. Beastly, thanks. I'm not going into dinner.

ROLF. Is there anything I can do for you?

CHLOE. No, dear boy. [Suddenly looking at him] You don't want
this quarrel with the Hillcrists to go on, do you, Rolf?

ROLF. No; I hate it.

CHLOE. Well, I think I might be able to stop it. Will you slip
round to Dawker's--it's not five minutes--and ask him to come and
see me.

ROLF. Father and