STEVE, with growing stiffness, ‘Your business, if you will be so good.’
Amy advances upon him. She has been seated in any case as long as they ever do sit on the stage on the same chair.
AMY. ‘Stephen Rollo, the game is up.’
She likes this; she will be able to go on now.
STEVE, recoiling guiltily or so she will describe it to Ginevra, ‘What on earth—’
AMY, suffering from a determination from the mouth of phrases she has collected in five theatres, ‘A chance discovery, Mr. Stephen Rollo, has betrayed your secret to me.’
STEVE, awed, ‘My secret? What is it?’ He rushes rapidly through a well-spent youth.
AMY, risking a good deal, ‘It is this: that woman is your wife.’
STEVE. ‘What woman?’
AMY. ‘The woman who dined with you here this evening.’