MRS. CULVER. What's the matter, Arthur?
CULVER. Everything.
MRS. CULVER ( alarmed, but carefully coaxing ). Why are you wearing your velvet coat? ( To Tranto.) He always puts on his velvet coat instead of dressing when something's gone wrong. ( To Mr. Culver.) Have you got neuralgia again?
CULVER. I don't think so.
MRS. CULVER. But surely you must know! You look terribly pale.
CULVER. The effect of the velvet coat, my dear—nicely calculated in advance.
MRS. CULVER ( darting at him, holding him by the shoulders, and then kissing him violently. With an intonation of affectionate protest ). Darling!
JOHN. Oh! I say, mater, look here!
MRS. CULVER ( to Culver, still holding him ). I'm very annoyed with you. It's perfectly absurd the way you work. ( To Tranto.) Do you know he was at the office all day Christmas Day and all day Boxing Day? ( To Culver.) You really must take a holiday.
CULVER. But what about the war, darling?