LEONARD. I’m lying. Yes. We can’t talk here. Who’s this? Take care. [As MRS. TIMBRELL enters he continues:] Well, I shall be much obliged if you will. The brown boots—Yes. More polish—I’ve really been quite ashamed of them. Well, Mother? [He turns from MARY with an air of dismissal. MARY moves away but stops as MRS. TIMBRELL occupies the doorway. MRS. TIMBRELL is startled rather than surprised. She holds a small framed photograph in her hand.]
MRS. TIMBRELL. [To LEONARD.] I’ve found your photograph.
MARY. You have no right in my room.
MRS. TIMBRELL. [Greatly agitated.] Leonard, I can’t believe—Leonard—
[She has advanced into the room having closed the door. It opens and MR. TIMBRELL enters gaily with SHEILA on his arm. He is a rather precise man condescending to geniality, obviously righteous according to his lights and obstinately trustful of them. MRS. TIMBRELL’S general attitude to him is a rather tired acquiescence which sometimes stops short of submission. ADA and EDGAR follow closely.]
TIMBRELL. Let’s see the latest, then. Where’s the sweetly pretty tea-caddy? [To MRS. TIMBRELL.] Have you seen it, my dear? [His speech peters out as he sees his wife’s face and the attitudes of the group of whom LEONARD alone attempts to maintain an ordinary appearance.] Why! What’s the matter?
LEONARD. You’d better let Mary go, Mother. You can’t scold her in public like this. Besides it was only a trifle.
MRS. TIMBRELL. I must know.
TIMBRELL. What! What! A scolding? What have you been doing, Mary? Come, come. Never mind. Run away. Run away. I’ll speak up for you, Mary.
MARY. [To LEONARD.] Must I go?