Sydney. I can’t conceive how you got away.
Hilary. Led. Like Peter out of prison. I went through the gate, openly. Their eyes were blinded. [With a complete change of tone] Pure luck, you know. There were visitors going out—and I nipped along with them, talking. No-one spotted me. I wouldn’t have believed it possible. Heaps of us—of them, I mean—have tried, you know.
Sydney. But you’d no money.
Hilary. [Whimsically] I took the first taxi I saw. Promised him double. He’s at the lower gate now, waiting to be paid.
Sydney. Father, dear! Ticking away the tuppences! We’re not millionaires!
Hilary. [Carelessly] Your mother’ll see to it. [Sound of a motor horn] That’s him! I suppose he’s got tired of waiting and come round.
Sydney. No, no! That’ll be Mother. You mustn’t stop here. You must let me tell her. You must let me tell her first. [She goes out hurriedly.]
Hilary. Your mother, is it? Your mother, eh? Here—child—a minute, give me a minute! give me a minute!
Margaret. [As she comes in] No—he couldn’t. But he’s coming round directly after lunch—Hilary!
Hilary. [Like a man who can’t see] Meg! Is it Meg? Meg, I’ve come home.