Glad, (after a moment's twinge of conscience, accepting Mrs. Garside's hand). Good night, Mrs. Garside.
Mrs. G. (to Peter, who opens right door). I'll put your supper out. You'll only have your cocoa to make.
[Peter tries not to look angry at the intrusion of domestic details. Exit Mrs. Garside. Peter closes the door and stands by it. Gladys is still in the revolving chair with her back to the table.
Peter. Yes. Fate didn't mean us two to miss each other.
Glad, (lightly). Do you believe in Fate?
Peter. I believe in mine. I know I was born under a lucky star. I've a genius for overcoming obstacles, no matter what they are, Miss Mottram. I've the knack of getting what I want.
Glad. Don't you find continuous success monotonous?
Peter (smiling). They're such precious small successes. I'm on the foothills yet, and I've set myself a lot of peaks to climb, but already I'm in sight of the highest of them all. (Looking at her hard.) Even from where I stand now I can glimpse the Mount Everest of my ambition.
Glad. Happy man, to know what you want. Most of us poor creatures haven't the faintest idea what we want to do with our lives.
Peter. I think better of you than that. You're not a bored society butterfly.