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.
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