HARRY. Queer your anxiety to stop me, when you knew I would find the door locked.
MRS. OTERY. Sometimes it’s locked; sometimes not.
HARRY. Is it not you that locks it?
MRS. OTERY (reluctantly). It’s never locked, it’s held.
HARRY. Who holds it?
MRS. OTERY (in a little outburst). Quiet, man.
HARRY. You’re all shivering.
MRS. OTERY. I’m not.
HARRY (cunningly). I suppose you are just shivering because the room is so chilly.
MRS. OTERY (falling into the trap). That’s it.