Lucas. Well, I'll be toddling back to the Red Lion. Good-night, Dolly. [Dolly looks at him, furious, turns away. Harry looks a little surprised.] Good-night, Harry.

Harry. Good-night, Lu. Seems a pity for you to turn out on a night like this. Dolly, can't we give him a shake-down——?

Dolly. No!

Lucas. Good-night, Uncle Matt.

Matt. [Comes up to him, in a low voice.] Cut it, my dear lad. Cut it! That's understood?

Lucas. Yes, of course. Well, good-night, Dolly, once more. [She doesn't reply.] Oh well, if you're going on the rampage—[Goes off muttering.] Infernal nuisance—night like this—— [Exit.

Harry. Is anything the matter?

Dolly. Lucas has offended me very much. I don't wish to speak of it.

Matt. Well, who was the victor?

Harry. The Professor won all four games.

Prof. I ascribe the increased accuracy of my stroke at billiards to my increased nerve force, now I have made Pableine my staple article of diet in place of meat.

Matt. Flies to the gray matter, eh?

Prof. Instantaneously.

Matt. Good stuff!

Prof. I hope you'll try it. Shall I send a tin to your room?

Matt. Will you? That will be kind!

Criddle. I've put the spirits in the hall, sir.

Harry. You can take them away, Criddle. In the future we shall not require spirits at night, only soda water and tea.

Criddle. Yes, sir. [Exit.

Dolly. [Who has been sitting wearily on sofa, rises.] Well, I'm going to bed.

Harry. You forget, dear.

Dolly. What? [Harry taps the writing-desk.] Oh, my dear Harry, we won't go into them to-night.

Harry. Yes, my dear, if you please. [Very firmly. Dolly makes an impatient gesture and pouts.] Please don't look like that. If I'm to help you in paying off these bills, it must be to-night, or not at all.

Dolly. Oh, very well, but—— [Sits down wearily.

Prof. [Taking out watch.] Five minutes past my usual hour.

Dolly. Renie has one of her bad headaches, so I've put her in the spare room.

Prof. Thank you. I'm afraid she's a little wilful. I can never get her to see that life can yield us no real satisfaction unless we regulate all our actions to the most minute point. Good-night.

Dolly. Good-night. [Shaking hands.

Prof. Good-night, Telfer.

Harry. Good-night. [Shaking hands.

Matt. Good-night, Harry.

Harry. Good-night, Dad. [Shaking hands.

Matt. [To Dolly.] Night-night, dear.

Dolly. Night-night, Dad. [Kissing him.

Prof. [Has been waiting at door.] I might perhaps show you the precise way of mixing the Pableine.

Matt. That would be kind! What's the dose?

Prof. Two teaspoonfuls. On certain occasions I have taken as much as four tablespoonfuls.

Matt. Wasn't that rather—going it?

Prof. No. It's quite tasteless, except for a very slight beany flavor.

Matt. Sounds just the thing for a New Year's drink, to brace up good resolutions. Come along! I'll have a regular night-cap of it.

Harry. Now we can have our cosy half hour.

Dolly. Ye-es. I've had an awful evening with Lucas. Don't you think——?

Harry. No, my darling. You put it off after tea——

Dolly. But our heads will be so much clearer in the morning——

Harry. [Very solemnly and severely.] My darling, remember what Pilcher said about procrastination. And remember our resolutions last night. If we break them on the first night of the year, where shall we be on the thirty-first of December?

Dolly. I'm horribly fagged.

Harry. Conquer it! Think how delightful it will be to put your head on the pillow to-night, without a single anxiety, without a single thought——

Dolly. Except my gratitude to you!

Harry. Come, dear, no time like the present!

Dolly. [Jumps up very briskly.] No time like the present! [Looking at him with great admiration.] Oh, Harry, what a dear, kind, good husband you've always been to me!

Harry. Have I, my darling? [Modestly.] I've done my best——

Dolly. How I must have tried you!

Harry. No, dear—at least a little sometimes.

Dolly. When I think what patience you've had with me, and never reproached me——

Harry. Well, not often. We've had our little tiffs—That day at Goodwood—eh?

Dolly. Don't speak of it! I was to blame——

Harry. No, dear, I can't let you accuse yourself. I was quite in the wrong.

Dolly. No, dear, it was my fault entirely!

Harry. Well, we won't quarrel about that. Now these bills——

Dolly. And what good pals we've been!

Harry. And always shall be. [Kissing her.

Dolly. [Hugging him.] Oh, you dear!

Harry. Now, business, business!

Dolly. [Going up to writing-desk.] What a lucky woman I am!

Harry. [Seated at table.] Bring them all.

Dolly. [Has opened desk and taken up some bills—she looks round dubiously at Harry.] What a splendid thing it must be to be a husband and have it in your power to make your wife adore you, by simply paying a few bills.

Harry. Yes—bring them all. [She comes down with a bundle of about fifteen, hands them to him.] Is this all?

Dolly. All, of any importance.

Harry. I want to see them all.

Dolly. So you shall, but we'll go through these first, because [lamely] if you want to ask any questions we can settle them on the spot, can't we?

Harry. [Reading from the bill.] Maison Récamier, Court and artistic millinery. By Jove! [Looks up.

Dolly. What!

Harry. One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine—nine hats!

Dolly. Different kinds of hats.

Harry. Yedda straw hat, four guineas, ostrich feather ruffle, twelve pounds ten——

Dolly. That was the one—you remember—when I came into the room you said, "Stay there! Just as you are! I must kiss you!"

Harry. Yes, but twelve pounds ten—Moss green chip hat, four, fourteen, six. Heliotrope velvet toque——

Dolly. That's the dear little toque you admire so much!

Harry. Do I? Six guineas! Dear little toque! Hat in white Tegal with plumes of Nattier Bleu—fifteen guineas—Fifteen guineas?!

Dolly. With plumes! Of Nattier Bleu!

Harry. But fifteen guineas!

Dolly. Oh, the woman's a fearful swindler! But what are you to do with such people?

Harry. [With bill.] Total, sixty-four, seven, six. And I get my one silk topper a year, at a guinea, and three and six for doing it up. Total for me, one, four, six. Total for you——

Dolly. My dear Harry, don't make absurd comparisons!

Harry. [Takes another bill.] John Spearman, artistic gown maker, ball gowns, reception gowns, race gowns—Good heavens!

Dolly. What's the matter?

Harry. Total, five hundred and fifty-six pounds—that can't be right!

Dolly. [Frightened.] No, it can't be! Add it up!

Harry. [Reading.] Tea gown of chiffon taffeta—

Dolly. The one I took to Folkestone, you remember?

Harry. [Gently repulsing her.] No, I don't. [She puts her arms round his neck; he gently pushes her aside.] Business first, please. [Reads.] Gown of white cloth with Postillion coat of Rose du Barri silk, motifs of silver, forty-five guineas——

Dolly. You won't grumble at that, for when I first put it on, you stood and looked at me and said, "I want to know how it is, Doll, that the moment a dress gets on to your shoulders, it seems to brisk up, and be as cocky and proud of itself——"

Harry. [Again repulsing her.] Yes, well now I do know! Jolly proud and cocky your dresses ought to feel at this price! [Reads.] "Evening cloak of strawberry satin charmeuse, trimmed silk passementerie, motifs and fringed stoles of dull gold embroidery, thirty-five guineas." What's a motif?

Dolly. It's a trimming—a lot of little touches—a sort of—a—a—a—[making a little descriptive gesture] a suggestion—a motif——

Harry. And Mr. John Spearman's motif is that I should pay him five hundred and fifty-six pounds. Well, I don't like Mr. John Spearman's motifs, and I'm not going to fall in with them. [Puts the bill on the table rather angrily, takes up another, reads.] "Artistic lingerie!" I wonder why all these people call themselves artists! "Underwear of daintiness and distinction."

Dolly. Well, you've always praised——

Harry. Yes. In future, I'm going to be very careful what articles of your dress I praise. "Three pairs of blue silk garters, forty-five shillings." [She has settled herself in the armchair, looking a little sulky and obstinate, leaning back and pettishly swinging one leg over the other.] What have you got to say to that?

Dolly. Garters are necessary.

Harry. Yes, but why three? And why blue silk? Why don't you speak?

Dolly. The garters can speak for themselves!

Harry. Very well. Garters that can speak for themselves can pay for themselves! [Dashes the bill on the table, takes up another. Reading.] Three bottles cœur de Janette—three bottles Souffle de Marguerite—fifteen pounds for scent—and I have to smoke sixpenny cigars! And sometimes only fourpenny!

Dolly. Well, if you will smoke those horrid strong things you can't wonder I have to disinfect the house for you.

Harry. Disinfect the house for me! You'll very soon disinfect the house of me! [Glances through the remaining bills, groans, puts them on the table, and walks about in despair. Dolly rises and is going off.] Where are you going?

Dolly. To bed.

Harry. [Stopping her.] No! Now we've begun, we'll go through to the bitter end, if you please. I want you to explain——

Dolly. My dear Harry, it will be quite useless for me to try to explain in your present state——

Harry. [Getting furious.] In my present state——

Dolly. Dancing about the room and shouting!——

Harry. I'm not shouting!

Dolly. You're not shouting?!

Harry. No, and if I am, isn't it enough to make a man shout when his wife——

Matt. Excuse my interrupting. But you know my room is just above this, and if you could manage to pitch your voices in rather a softer key——

Harry. By Jove, I'd forgotten! We were getting a little noisy. I'm awfully sorry.

Matt. Don't mention it! The Professor gave me rather a stiff go of his Pableine, and I fancy it hasn't agreed with me [tapping his chest] for I can't get a wink of sleep. Is there a spoonful of whiskey about?

Harry. On the sideboard in the dining-room.

Matt. Thankee. [Tapping his chest.] Harry, when you get over fifty, don't change your nightcap, or any of your other bad habits.

Harry. I won't. Now, Dolly——

Matt. [Anxiously.] You won't perhaps be very long now?

Dolly. No, we'd nearly finished——

Matt. Nothing serious, I hope?

Dolly. Harry doesn't approve of my using scent.

Harry. Not in pailfuls. Certainly not.

Dolly. I had three small bottles——

Matt. Montaigne says that the sweetest perfume a woman can have, is to have none at all. [Exit.

Harry. Now, my darling, we shall best arrive at an understanding if we avoid all temper, and discuss it in a calm, business-like way.

Dolly. [A little frightened.] Ye-es——

Harry. Very well then, bring up your chair, and let us go into it, figure by figure, item by item, and see how we stand.

Dolly. Ye-es. [Bringing a chair a little way.] Harry, you aren't going to be as business-like as all that?

Harry. As all what?

Dolly. I can't discuss it while you keep me at a distance! [Suddenly rushes at him, seats herself on his knee, puts his arm round her waist, kisses him.] There! now I feel I can discuss it thoroughly.

Harry. Very well [kisses her], so long as we do discuss it thoroughly.

Dolly. I began to get quite frightened of you, Mr. Jobling.

Harry. Jobling?

Dolly. The man Mr. Pilcher had to get a money-box for, because he swore at his wife!

Harry. Oh, yes.

Dolly. You got so angry—and shouted——

Harry. Well, there was no reason for that, especially as getting out of temper is the one thing I'm quite resolved to conquer this New Year——

Dolly. [Kissing him.] Don't forget that!

Harry. [Kisses her.] Now, business, business! [Takes up a bill.] What have we here? Carchet, gantier et bonnetier, artiste—Hillo, here's another artist! In stockings this time. [Suddenly.] I say!

Dolly. [Frightened.] Eh?

Harry. [Points to an item in bill.] Come now, Dolly—this is really too bad—this really is too bad!

Dolly. [Frightened.] What?!

Harry. One dozen pairs best silk hose, with clocks——

Dolly. Yes—how much does that come to?

Harry. Eleven pounds two——

Dolly. It does seem rather a high price, but——

Harry. You're wearing them about the house?

Dolly. I can't go about the house without stockings. And I put them on for your especial benefit. [He utters a contemptuous exclamation.] They're a lovely quality——

Harry. I daresay. [Turning away.] I'm not going to admire your stockings, or your ostrich ruffles, or your blue silk garters, or your motifs, or anything that is yours! It's too expensive!

Dolly. [Dress an inch higher, looking down at her stockings.] It's the clocks you have to pay for——

Harry. I beg your pardon, it's the clocks I haven't got to pay for! And don't mean to—if I can help it. Idiotic thing to go and put clocks on stockings—[muttering] damned silly idiotic——

Dolly. Ah! [Goes to table, brings the hospital box and puts it in front of him.] Double fine this time.

Harry. What for?

Dolly. Naughty swear word, and getting out of temper.

Harry. Oh well—[fumbling in his pocket] I did say d——, but I didn't get out of temper!

Dolly. You didn't get out of temper?!?

Harry. Not at all. I'm quite calm. [Sulkily puts a shilling in the box.] There! [Seats himself at table.] Now we'll go quietly and methodically through the remainder—— [Taking up a bill, looks at it, exclaims.] Good heavens!

Dolly. Good heavens what?

Harry. [In a low exhausted tone with groans.] Good heavens! Good heavens! It's absolutely useless—Good heavens!

Dolly. But what is it? [Coming up, looking over.

Harry. [Points to bill.] Four more hats! Nine on the other bill—four more here. Thirteen hats.

Dolly. No, one was a toque.

Harry. But can you explain?

Dolly. Yes. You said yourself that Madame Récamier was horribly expensive, so I left her and went to Jacquelin's—just to save your pocket——

Harry. Never save my pocket again, please.

Dolly. Very well, I won't.

Harry. No, I daresay you won't, but I shall! I shall draw the strings very tightly in future. Save my pocket! [He is walking about distractedly.] Save my pocket. [Groans.

Dolly. Now, Harry, it's useless to take it in this way—you knew when you married me I hadn't got the money sense——

Harry. [Groans.] I hadn't got any sense at all!

Dolly. Very likely not. But try and have a little now. What have I done? Run a little into debt, solely to please you.

Harry. Yes; well, now run out of it, and I shall be better pleased still.

Dolly. After all, running into debt is a positive virtue beside the things that some wives do!

Harry. Oh, it's a positive virtue, is it?

Dolly. A husband is very lucky when his wife spends most of her time running up a few bills. It keeps her out of mischief. I'm sure you ought to feel very glad that I'm a little extravagant!

Harry. Oh, I am! I am! I'm delighted!

Dolly. What are you doing?

Harry. I'm totting up to see how lucky I am! Forty-one, one, six—— [Groans.] Ninety-four—— [Groans.

Dolly. [Has crept up behind him, puts her arms round his neck.] Now, Harry, will you take my advice——?

Harry. No.

Dolly. It's past eleven.

Harry. [Disengaging her arms, speaking very sternly.] Will you have the goodness to let me have all your bills, so that I may know what help I shall need from my banker?

Dolly. Harry, you don't mean that? Oh, that's absurd with our income!

Harry. Will you have the goodness to do as I say, and at once, please? [He is dotting down figures. She stands still in the middle of the room.] Did you hear me?

Dolly. [Piteously.] Harry! Harry! [Goes up to him and plucks his sleeve.] Harry!

Harry. Well?

Dolly. And on the first night of the New Year, too! Just as we were going to be so happy! Harry! [Holds out her arms appealingly.] Harry! [Harry suddenly turns round and clasps her.] How could you be so unkind to me?

Harry. Was I? I didn't mean to be. Now! Dry your tears, and help me reckon this up——

Dolly. Ye-es.

Harry. But first of all let me have the remainder of the bills——

Dolly. Yes.

Harry. At once, my darling—it's getting late.

Dolly. Yes. [Goes up to desk.] You won't reproach me?

Harry. Of course I won't.

Dolly. I can bear anything except your reproaches. Promise you won't reproach me.

Harry. I won't, unless——

Dolly. Unless what?

Harry. It's something too awful.

Dolly. Oh, it isn't. Not at all. Not at all. [Goes up to the desk, brings down about ten more bills with great affected cheerfulness.] There! You see, it's nothing.

Harry. [Hastily looking at the totals.] Nothing? You call these nothing!!?

Dolly. Nothing to speak about—nothing awful!

Harry. Good heavens! How any woman with the least care for her husband, or her home—— [looking at one total after another] how any woman with the least self-respect—— [Dolly goes to him, puts her arms round him, tries to embrace—he repulses her.] No, please. I've had enough of that old dodge.

Dolly. Dodge!

Harry. I remember that last two hundred pounds and how you sweedled me out of it!

Dolly. Sweedled?

Harry. Yes! Sweedled!

Dolly. There's no such word!

Harry. No, but there's the thing! As most husbands know. [Referring to one bill after another, picking out items.] Lace coat, hand-made! En-tout-cas, studded cabochons of lapis lazuli—studded cabochons—studded cabochons!

Dolly. [Has quietly seated herself, and is looking at the ceiling.] Couldn't you manage to pitch your voice in rather a softer key?

Harry. [Comes angrily down to her, bills in hand, speaks in a whisper, very rapidly and fiercely.] Yes! And I say that a woman who goes and runs up bills like these, [dashing the back of one hand against the bills in the other] while her husband is smoking threepenny cigars, will very soon bring herself and him to one of those new palatial workhouses where, thank heaven, the cuisine and appointments are now organized with a view of providing persons of your tastes with every luxury at the ratepayers' expense. [Returns angrily to the bills, turns them over.] Irish lace bolero! [Turns to another.] Fur motor coat, fifty-five guineas——

Dolly. [Calmly gazing at the ceiling.] You told me to look as smart as Mrs. Colefield.

Harry. Not at that price! If I'd known what that motor tour would cost by Jove! I'd——

Dolly. You're getting noisy again. You'll wake my father.

Harry. He ought to be waked! He ought to know what his daughter is saddling me with.

Dolly. Very well, if you don't care how shabby I look——

Harry. Shabby! [Referring to bills.] Lace demi-toilette! Point de Venise lace Directoire coat! Shabby?

Dolly. My dear Harry, do you suppose we shall ever agree as to what constitutes shabbiness?

Harry. No, I'm hanged if we ever shall!

Dolly. Then suppose we drop the subject. For the future I shall endeavor to please you entirely.

Harry. Oh, you will?

Dolly. By dressing so that you'll be ashamed to be seen in the same street with me. I shall make myself a perfect fright—a perfect dowdy—a perfect draggletail!

Harry. Then I shall not be seen in the same street with you.

Dolly. You won't?

Harry. No, my dear. Make no mistake about that!

Dolly. You'll be seen with somebody else, perhaps?

Harry. Very likely.

Dolly. Have you met Miss Smithson again?

Harry. Not since the last time.

Dolly. Have you seen her since we were at Folkestone?

Harry. What's that to do with your bills?

Dolly. A great deal. That night at dinner she told you her dress allowance was a hundred and twenty a year, and you said you wished she'd give me a few lessons in economy.

Harry. I did not.

Dolly. Pardon me, you did!

Harry. Pardon me, I did not. I said she might give some women a lesson in economy.

Dolly. You did not! I heard every word of your conversation, and you distinctly asked her to give me, your wife, a few lessons in economy.

Harry. I'll swear I didn't!

Dolly. Ask my father! He was there.

Harry. Very well! I'll ask him the first thing in the morning.

Dolly. No, to-night! You've accused me of deliberately saying what isn't true, and I——

Harry. I have not!

Dolly. Yes, you have. And I insist on having it cleared up to-night! I don't suppose he's asleep! Fetch him down!

Harry. Very well! I will fetch him down! [Exit.

Dolly. [Paces furiously up and down.] Me! Lessons in economy! Lessons in economy! Me! Lessons in economy!

Harry. He'll be down in a minute! Meantime, [very angry] I want to know what any woman in this world wants with two dozen cache corsets?

Dolly. We'll clear up Miss Smithson first——

Harry. No, we will not clear up Miss Smithson——

Dolly. Because you can't clear up Miss Smithson——

Harry. I can clear up Miss Smithson——

Dolly. You cannot clear up Miss Smithson——

Dad, you remember Miss Smithson——

Matt. [Coming in, very sleepy.] Smithson?

Dolly. The girl at the hotel at Folkestone, that Harry paid so much attention to.

Harry. I paid no more attention to Miss Smithson than was absolutely necessary. Did I, Mr. Barron?

Dolly. Oh! Oh! Dad, you remember——

Matt. Not for the moment——

Dolly. Not the disgraceful way Harry—there's no other word—carried on!

Harry. I did not carry on—Mr. Barron, I appeal to you.

Dolly. Dad!

Matt. My dear, I certainly did not notice——

Dolly. No, he was far too careful to let anyone notice it, except his own wife!

Harry. You lay your life when I do carry on my wife will be the last person I shall allow to notice it!

Dolly. I daresay! Dad, did you hear that?

Matt. Yes. [Rousing himself a little.] Now, Harry, what about this Miss Smithson?

Harry. That's what I want to know!

Matt. Who is Miss Smithson?

Dolly. Surely you remember that lanky girl——

Harry. Miss Smithson is not lanky——

Dolly. Not lanky? Not lanky?! You can't have any eyes——!

Harry. That's what I've often thought——

Dolly. [Explodes.] Oh! Oh! Dad!

Matt. Come, Harry, let's clear this up. [Suddenly.] Smithson? Oh yes! The girl who sat on your left at your dinner party——

Dolly. That's the one!

Matt. I should call her a trifle lanky, Harry.

Dolly. A trifle? Well, never mind! You remember that dinner party——

Matt. [Cautiously.] Ye-es.

Dolly. You remember how she waited for a lull in the talk, and then she said with that silly, simpering, appealing look——

Harry. Miss Smithson's look is not silly or simpering.

Dolly. Well, it's appealing, isn't it?

Harry. [With a little chuckle.] Oh, yes, it's appealing.

Dolly. [Enraged.] Oh! Dad!

Matt. [Quiets her.] Shush!—What did she say?

Dolly. She said with a very marked glance at me, "My dress allowance is a hundred and twenty a year, and I don't understand how any reasonable woman can wish for more!" What do you think of that?

Matt. Well, if she did say that, and if she glanced at you, it——

Dolly. Yes?

Matt. It wasn't very nice of her.

Dolly. Nice? It was an insult! A direct, intentional, abominable insult, wasn't it?

Matt. Yes, yes, decidedly, under the circumstances——

Dolly. And Harry ought to have resented it?

Matt. At his own dinner table he couldn't, could he?

Dolly. Yes! At least, if he couldn't resent it, he ought to have shown that he resented it. Instead of that, he actually asked her to give me a few lessons in economy!

Harry. I did not!

Dolly. Pardon me, you did! Me! his wife! Lessons in economy!

Harry. And a thundering good thing if she had given you a few before you ran up these bills!

Dolly. There! You hear?!

Matt. Come, Harry, you oughtn't to have asked another woman to give your wife lessons in economy.

Harry. I didn't!

Dolly. Dad! You were there——

Matt. Yes, but I don't quite remember——

Dolly. You don't remember?! Surely you can remember a simple thing like that when your own daughter tells you it was so!

Matt. Now, Harry, what did you really say to Miss Smithson?

Harry. I said she might give some women a lesson in economy.

Matt. Not meaning Dolly?

Harry. No-o.

Dolly. Then whom did he mean? Lessons in economy? Whom could he mean if he didn't mean me?

Harry. Just so!

Dolly. Ah! There! You see, he owns it!

Matt. No, no, I'm sure he doesn't mean it! Did you, Harry?

Dolly. Then will he please say what he really does mean?

Matt. Now, Harry, what do you really mean?

Harry. Well, you remember that night of the dinner party at Folkestone.

Matt. [Cautiously.] Ye-es.

Harry. After they'd all gone you and I went into the smoking-room, didn't we?

Matt. [Cautiously.] Ye-es.

Harry. And you said, "Doll's in one of her high gales again!"

Dolly. High gales?! [Indignant.] Father! You didn't say that?

Matt. No, no, my dear——

Harry. Excuse me, those were your exact words. High gales!

Matt. I don't remember.

Dolly. No, you don't remember anything.

Harry. You said, "What on earth was up between her and Miss Smithson at dinner?"

Dolly. You see! That proves exactly what I said!

Harry. No, by Jove, it proves that your father noticed what a confounded, cussed——

Dolly. Go on! Go on! Say it!

Matt. Shush! Shush! Well, Harry, what did you say?

Harry. Well, not wishing to give Dolly away——

Dolly. Ha! ha! Not wishing to give me away!

Harry. Not then! But, by Jove, if any decent chap were to come along now——

Dolly. [Exploding.] There! There! [To Matt.] And you sit there and hear my own husband insult me in my own house!

Matt. No! No!

Dolly. But there you sit! There you sit!

Matt. [Jumps up fiercely.] Now, Harry!

Harry. [Fiercely.] Well, now, Mr. Barron——

Dolly. Why don't you defend me? Why don't you demand an apology?

Matt. What for?

Dolly. For everything! For to-night! For that night at Folkestone!

Harry. That night at Folkestone! Why, your father was quite on my side——

Matt. What?

Dolly. He wasn't; were you, Dad?

Matt. No—no.

Harry. What? [Fiercely.] Do you remember exactly what passed between us in the smoking-room, Mr. Barron?

Matt. No.

Harry. Then I'll tell you——

Matt. [Retreating towards door.] No—no—I don't want to know——

Harry. [Following him up, shouting a little.] You said, "I know what she's like in her high gales! I remember what the little devil was like at home."

Dolly. [Pursuing him up to door.] Father! You didn't say that!

Matt. No—no, my darling—quite a mistake—quite a mistake—altogether a mistake.

Dolly. [Calls after him.] Then why don't you stay and tell him so!

Harry. [Shouts after Matt.] It's not a mistake!

Dolly. [Calls after Matt.] It's cowardly of you to leave me here to be insulted.

Harry. [Goes up to door, shouts.] It's not a mistake! You patted me on the back and said, "Poor chap! Poor chap!" You know you did! [Closes the door, comes fiercely down to Dolly.] It's not a mistake! He could see you had insulted Miss Smithson.

Dolly. I had not insulted her! I was far too civil to her, considering that the next evening you took her out on the Leas, when you ought to have been at billiards——

Harry. I took her out on the Leas!

Dolly. Yes! You weren't in the billiard-room! So where were you? Where were you?

Harry. I jolly well don't know, and I—I——

Dolly. Say it! Say it!

Harry. I damned well don't care!

Dolly. Ah!