Sydney. It’s all right, Mother! [There is the sound of a motor driving up.] There is Gray.
Margaret. [Jumping up hurriedly] Oh, and I’m not dressed. Say I’ll be down in a minute. [She runs upstairs.]
Sydney. You’ve plenty of time. The bells haven’t begun yet.
Margaret. [From the gallery] Tell Bassett to clear away.
Sydney rings the bell. The elderly maid enters through the baize door.
Bassett. Yes, Miss?
Sydney. You can clear, Bassett!
While she is speaking Gray Meredith comes in through the hall door. He is about forty, tall, dark and quiet, very sure of himself and quite indifferent to the effect he makes on other people. As he is a man who never has room in his head for more than one idea at a time, and as for the last five years that idea has been Margaret, the rest of the world doesn’t get much out of him. But mention her and he behaves exactly like a fire being poked.
Gray. [Putting down a box he carries] Where’s your mother?
Sydney. [Folding her hands] Good morning, dear Sydney! A merry Christmas to you, and so many thanks for the tie that, with the help of your devoted aunt, you so thoughtfully—