an action of
dismissal, or an appeal to the elemental forces. _Lord Gumthorpe_ drops
limply on to the window-seat and presses his forehead against the stone
mullion. Then he stands up and gazes at her face, trying not to appear
to be looking at her one eyebrow.

LORD GUMTHORPE (with tremulous indecision). _Yes! but you see----_

[As he stands there the extraordinary resemblance between him and
VELASQUEZ' portrait of PHILIP IV. of Spain comes home to her with such
force that she is about to qualify her half-stated implication, when
_Angela Thynne_ drops her fan into the fireplace. She has moved to the
seat that _Lady Gastwyck_ had vacated. She is leaning forward with lips
parted, and her limpid blue eyes gazing at the dead embers. _Lady
Gastwyck_ recoils as though struck by a whip. She moves to the
Chesterfield and leans against it, biting her nails. _Lord Gumthorpe_
moves deeper into the recess, struggling with the emotions which the
astounding act of _Angela_ has produced. As he sits there, the
moonlight, pouring through the diamond panes of the window, throws
rhomboids of light on to the polished floor. It looks like some
enchanted chessboard. Leaning back and gazing with half-closed eyes, he
peoples it with fantastic rooks, and knights and bishops, when suddenly
the strangely penetrating voice of _Angela_ breaks the silence.

ANGELA. _Would it be possible for you two to----_

[There is a terrifying silence.]

_Lord Gumthorpe_ (greedily). _Pawn to Queen's pawn four!_

[He says this to gain time. For the besetting irresoluteness of the
Gumthorpes is consuming him. "If only she would----" he is thinking to
himself, rapidly reviewing the salient features of his past life. He has
not the courage to look at _Angela_, but his eyes wander in the
direction of _Lady Gastwyck_. She is leaning forward on the
Chesterfield, her chin resting on her hand, her eyebrow looking like an
enormous black moustache. He feels his way along the wall, keeping his
face towards _Lady Gastwyck_. He knows--he was educated at Eton and
Christchurch--that as the fan has fallen into the fireplace, unless it
has been removed, it will be there still. Very slowly he reaches the
grate and, without turning his head, picks up the fan. It is a moment of
intense emotion. The air is charged with electric suspense. _Lady
Gastwyck_ moves suddenly, and the rustle of her skirt sounds like the
rattle of musketry on a frosty morning. _Lord Gumthorpe_ drops the