All three present him with the cigarettes.
MRS. MICKLEHAM. ‘A scraping, as one might say.’
THE HAGGERTY WOMAN. ‘The heart,’ enigmatically, ‘is warm though it may not be gold-tipped.’
DOWEY. ‘You bricks!’
THE LADIES. ‘Good luck, cocky.’
DOWEY. ‘The same to you. And if you see a sodger man up there in a kilt, he is one that is going back with me. Tell him not to come down, but—but to give me till the last minute, and then to whistle.’
It is quite a grave man who is left alone, thinking what to do next. He tries a horse laugh, but that proves of no help. He says ‘Hell!’ to himself, but it is equally ineffective. Then he opens the pantry door and calls.
‘Old lady.’
She comes timidly to the door, her hand up as if to ward off a blow.
‘Is it time?’