Charles. Fright? (Flora nods.) I can believe you are, but nobody'd guess it.
(Half-enter Cedric, L.)
Cedric. (Stopping at half-opened door. To somebody outside the room.) What's that you say? (Exit again, leaving door ajar.)
Flora. You'd better go. Don't forget the imitation curate's waiting for you.
Charles. Frizzle the imitation curate.
Flora. You'll be in the way here—don't you see?
Charles. But you're sending me off just at the interesting part. And you'll all be gone to bed before I get back from the office.
Flora. Yes, but I hope we shall all still be alive to-morrow. Now—there's a dear, before Cedric comes.
Charles. But—is it really serious? (Flora nods.) Then we shan't have to go to Chelmsford to-morrow? (Flora shakes her head.) Nor any other day? (Flora shakes her head. Charles moves reluctantly towards the door.) Well, I can't realise it, and that's flat. I say——
Flora. Yes?