WILL. Don't get sore. It's common sense and it goes, does it not?
JOHN. [Turns to WILL.] Just what goes?
WILL. If she leaves you first, you are to tell me, and if she comes to me I'll make her let you know just when and why.
JOHN is leaning on arm, facing WILL; his hand shoots out in a gesture of warning to WILL.
JOHN. Look out!
WILL. I said common sense.
JOHN. All right.
WILL. Agreed? [A pause.
JOHN. You're on.
By this time the stage is black and all that can be seen is the glow of the two cigars. Piano in the next room is heard. JOHN crosses slowly and deliberately to door, looks in, throws cigar away over the terrace, exits into house, closes doors, and, as WILL is seated on terrace, puffing cigar, the red coal of which is alone visible, a slow curtain.