e is an old one, built in an age when the homes of
doctors, lawyers and so forth were part of a provincial town, and
not yet suburban. There are two or three fine old prints on the
walls, Right and Left; and a fine, old fireplace, Left, with a
fender on which one can sit. A door, Left back, leads into the
dining-room, and a door, Right forward, into the hall.

JOHN BUILDER is sitting in his after-breakfast chair before the fire
with The Times in his hands. He has breakfasted well, and is in
that condition of first-pipe serenity in which the affairs of the
nation seem almost bearable. He is a tallish, square, personable
man of forty-seven, with a well-coloured, jowly, fullish face,
marked under the eyes, which have very small pupils and a good deal
of light in them. His bearing has force and importance, as of a man
accustomed to rising and ownerships, sure in his opinions, and not
lacking in geniality when things go his way. Essentially a
Midlander. His wife, a woman of forty-one, of ivory tint, with a
thin, trim figure and a face so strangely composed as to be almost
like a mask (essentially from Jersey) is putting a nib into a
pen-holder, and filling an inkpot at the writing-table.

As the curtain rises CAMILLE enters with a rather broken-down
cardboard box containing flowers. She is a young woman with a good
figure, a pale face, the warm brown eyes and complete poise of a
Frenchwoman. She takes the box to MRS BUILDER.

MRS BUILDER. The blue vase, please, Camille.
CAMILLE fetches a vase. MRS BUILDER puts the flowers into the vase.
CAMILLE gathers up the debris; and with a glance at BUILDER goes
out.

BUILDER. Glorious October! I ought to have a damned good day's shooting
with Chantrey tomorrow.

MRS BUILDER. [Arranging the flowers] Aren't you going to the office
this morning?

BUILDER. Well, no, I was going to take a couple of days off. If you
feel at the top of your form, take a rest--then you go on feeling at the
top. [He looks at her, as if calculating] What do you say to looking up
Athene?

MRS BUILDER. [Palpably astonished] Athene? But you said you'd done
with her?

BUILDER. [Smiling] Six weeks ago; but, dash it, one can't have done with
one's own daughter. That's the weakness of an Englishman; he can't keep
up his resentments. In a town like this it do