GERALD. Quite.
CLERK. We're as much put out about it as anybody.
GERALD. Of course.
CLERK. Yes—well—good night, sir. (Clerks draw near—there is a sound of loud young voices and bicycle bells. Bicycles sweep past.)
CLERKS. Good night, sir.—Good night, sir.
GERALD. Good night.—They're very bucked to see me sitting here with a woman—a young lady as they'll say. I guess your name will be flying round to-morrow. They stop partly to have a good look at you. Do they know you, do you think?
ANABEL. Sure.
CLERKS. Mr. Breffitt's just coming, sir.—Good night, sir.—Good night, sir. (Another bicycle passes.)
ANABEL. The bicycles don't see us.—Isn't it rather hateful to be a master? The attitude of them all is so ugly. I can quite see that it makes you rather a bully.
GERALD. I suppose it does. (Figure of a large man approaches.)