DOT. Mabel's going. [They all stir, as if at fresh consciousness of
discomfiture]. She walked into Gracely and sent herself a telegram.
HAROLD. Phew!
DOT. And we shall say good-bye, as if nothing had happened.
HAROLD. It's up to you, Ronny.
KEITH, looking at JOAN, slowly emits smoke; and LATTER passing
his arm through JOAN'S, draws her away with him into the
billiard-room.
KEITH. Dot?
DOT. I'm not a squeamy squirrel.
KEITH. Anybody seen the girl since?
DOT. Yes.
HAROLD. Well?
DOT. She's just sitting there.
CHRISTINE. [In a hard voice] As we're all doing.
DOT. She's so soft, that's what's so horrible. If one could only
feel----!
KEITH. She's got to face the music like the rest of us.
DOT. Music! Squeaks! Ugh! The whole thing's like a concertina,
and some one jigging it!
They all turn as the door opens, and a FOOTMAN enters with a
tray of whiskey, gin, lemons, and soda water. In dead silence
the FOOTMAN puts the tray down.
HAROLD. [Forcing his voice] Did you get a run, Ronny? [As KEITH
nods] What point?
KEITH. Eight mile.
FOOTMAN. Will you take tea, sir?
KEITH. No, thanks, Charles!
In dead silence again the FOOTMAN goes out, and they all look
after him.
HAROLD. [Below his breath] Good Gad! That's a squeeze of it!
KEITH. What's our line of country to be?
CHRISTINE.
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