Fred. (nonchalantly). Size of a piece of wood.
Glad. Very well, then. Yes.
Peter (rising briskly). That's what I wanted. (Crosses as if to open door, comes round to window, runs blind up, and steps out to balcony.)
Glad, (as he is at window). I didn't mean it.
Peter. You said it. (He goes out, speaking as if to a crowd below.) Comrades, I'm here. (Cheers off.) From the house of our Mayor, on whom I am calling as the people's candidate at this election——
[Fred, crosses and closes window. Faint murmur only is audible off.
Fred. I can't stand this. He's spouting Socialism from our balcony. (Angrily.) This is your fault, Gladys.
Glad. I was told to keep him here.
[Lady Mottram has collapsed on the Chesterfield.
Fred. Not with a mob howling for him outside.