RANKLING.
[Rising with forced calmness.] Thank you, Emma. [To Miss Dyott.] Madam, my daughter is in your charge till you receive instructions from my solicitor. [Glaring at Peggy.] A short written apology shall be sent to this young lady in the course of the afternoon. [To his wife!] Emma, your hair's rough—come home. [He gives Mrs. Rankling his arm. They go out. Miss Dyott sinks exhausted on sofa. Peggy offers her a glass of wine.]
MISS DYOTT.
Oh, my goodness! [Declining the wine.] No, no—not that. It has been decanted since Midsummer. [Queckett, his coat collar turned tip, appears at the door looking back over his shoulder.]
QUECKETT.
What's the matter with the Ranklings? [Seeing Miss Dyott and Peggy.] Oh! has that vexing girl told Caroline? [The clock strikes two.]
MISS DYOTT.
[To herself!] Two o'clock—I must remove to Henrietta Street. [Seeing Queckett.] My darling.
QUECKETT.
My love. [To himself] All right.