]

OLIVE. Why not?

MORE. Never mind, my dicky bird.

OLIVE. The motor'll have to go very slow. There are such a lot of
people in the street. Are you staying to stop them setting the house
on fire? [MORE nods] May I stay a little, too? [MORE shakes his
head] Why?

MORE. [Putting his hand on her head] Go along, my pretty!

OLIVE. Oh! love me up, Daddy!

[MORE takes and loves her up]

OLIVE. Oo-o!

MORE. Trot, my soul!

[She goes, looks back at him, turns suddenly, and vanishes.]

MORE follows her to the door, but stops there. Then, as full
realization begins to dawn on him, he runs to the bay window,
craning his head to catch sight of the front door. There is the
sound of a vehicle starting, and the continual hooting of its
horn as it makes its way among the crowd. He turns from the
window.

MORE. Alone as the last man on earth!

[Suddenly a voice rises clear out of the hurly-burly in the
street.]

VOICE. There 'e is! That's 'im! More! Traitor! More!

A shower of nutshells, orange-peel, and harmless missiles begins
to rattle against the glass of the window. Many voices take up
the groaning: "More! Traitor! Black-leg! More!" And through
the window can be seen waving flags and lighted Chinese
lanterns, swinging high on long bamboos. The din of execration
swells. MORE stands unheeding, still gazing after the cab.
Then, with a sharp crack, a flung stone crashes through one of
the panes. It is followed by a hoarse shout of laughter, and a
hearty groan. A second stone crashes through the glass. MORE
turns for a moment, with a contemptuous look, towards the
street, and the flare of the Chinese lanterns lights up his
face. Then, as if forgetting all about the din outside, he
moves back into the room, looks round him, and lets his head
droop. The din rises louder and louder; a third stone crashes
through. MORE raises his head again, and, clasping his hands,
looks straight before him. The footman, HENRY, entering,
hastens to the French windows.

MORE. Ah! Henry, I thought you'd gone.

FOOTMAN. I came back, sir.

MORE. Good fellow!

FOOTMAN. They're trying to force the terrace gate, sir. They've no
business coming on to private property--no matter what!

In the surging entrance of the mob the footman, HENRY, who shows