DEARTH (sincerely). Yes, what a boon for you. But I hope it's not Freddy Finch-Fallowe you would put in my place; I know he is following you about again. (He is far from threatening her, he has too beery an opinion of himself for that.)
ALICE. He followed me about, as you put it, before I knew you. I don't know why I quarrelled with him.
DEARTH. Your heart told you that he was no good, Alice.
ALICE. My heart told me that you were. So it wasn't of much service to me, my heart!
DEARTH. The Honourable Freddy Finch-Fallowe is a rotter.
ALICE (ever inflammable). You are certainly an authority on the subject.
DEARTH (with the sad smile of the disillusioned). You have me there. After which brief, but pleasant, little connubial chat, he pursued his dishonoured way into the garden.
(He is however prevented doing so for the moment by the return of the others. They are all still in their dinner clothes though wearing wraps. They crowd in through the door, chattering.)
LOB. Here they are. Are you ready, dear lady?
MRS. COADE (seeing that DEARTH's hand is on the window curtains). Are you not coming with us to find the wood, Mr. Dearth.