BETTY. [Beside herself, wringing her hands.] Hector, Hector—
HECTOR. [Savagely, as he makes a half-turn towards her.] You still there? Wait a bit. I'll come to you, when I've finished with him. If you haven't gone and put on your things, you shall go off without them. Into the street. You'll find other women there like you. [He turns back to WALTER.] Here, you, have you written? [He looks over WALTER'S shoulder.] Go on—I'm getting impatient. Go on, I tell you. I—am—taking—the—
[WALTER is slowly writing down the words, HECTOR standing over him; BETTY suddenly bursts into a peal of wild, uproarious laughter, and lets herself fall into a chair to the left of the card-table.
HECTOR. [Madly.] You!
[He leaves WALTER, and almost springs at her.
BETTY. [Brimming with merriment.] Oh, you old donkey! How we have pulled your leg!
HECTOR. [Staring at her, stopping dead short.] You—
BETTY. [Through her laughter, choking.] Hector, Hector! Conventional situations! The usual stodge! The lover and husband! You goose, you wonderful old goose!
[WALTER, with a mighty effort, has pulled himself together, and roars with laughter too. He jumps up. HECTOR is standing there blinking, paralysed.
WALTER. [Merrily, to BETTY.] Oh really, you shouldn't. You've given it away too soon!