Thanks, Studdenham, I see.

STUDDENHAM. I won't take 'em out in here. They're rather bold yet.

CHRISTINE. [Desperately] No, no, of course.

STUDDENHAM. Then you think you'd like him, Miss DOT? The other's got
a white chest; she's a lady.

[He protrudes the left-hand pocket.]

DOT. Oh, yes! Studdenham; thanks, thanks awfully.

STUDDENHAM. Wonderful faithful creatures; follow you like a woman.
You can't shake 'em off anyhow. [He protrudes the right-hand pocket]
My girl, she'd set her heart on him, but she'll just have to do
without.

DOT. [As though galvanised] Oh! no, I can't take it away from her.

STUDDENHAM. Bless you, she won't mind! That's settled, then. [He
turns to the door. To the PUPPY] Ah! would you! Tryin' to wriggle
out of it! Regular young limb! [He goes out, followed by JACKSON.]

CHRISTINE. How ghastly!

DOT. [Suddenly catching sight of the book in her hand] "Caste!"
[She gives vent to a short sharp laugh.]

The curtain falls.

ACT III

It is five o'clock of the same day. The scene is the
smoking-room, with walls of Leander red, covered by old
steeplechase and hunting prints. Armchairs encircle a high
ferulered hearth, in which a fire is burning. The curtains are
not yet drawn across mullioned windows, but electric light is
burning. There are two doors, leading, the one to the
billiard-room, the other to a corridor. BILL is pacing up and
doom; HAROLD, at the fireplace, stands looking at him with
commiseration.

BILL. What's the time?

HAROLD. Nearly five. They won't be in yet, if that's any
consolation. Always a tough meet--[softly] as the tiger said when he
ate the man.

BILL. By Jove! You're the only person I can stand within a mile of
me, Harold.

HAROLD. Old boy! Do you seriously think you're going to make it any
better by marrying her?

[Bill shrugs his shoulders, still pacing the room.]

BILL. Look here! I'm not the sort that finds it easy to say things.

HAROLD. No, old man.

BILL. But I've got a kind of self-respect though you wouldn't think
it!

HAROLD. My dear old chap!

BILL. This is about as low-down a thing as one could have done, I
suppose--one's own mother's maid; we've known her since she was so
high. I see it now that--I've got over the attack.

HAROLD. But, heavens! if you're no longer keen on her, B