DEB. (Sharply.) How should I know?
ALLEN. (Looks around surprised—sotto voce.) How the fire do draw out a woman’s temper, to be sure.
(Exit Allen l., down stage.)
DEB. (Left alone stands r.a moment without speaking.) What right has she to come down here and take him away? She doesn’t love him. Couldn’t she have found enough fine gentlemen in London to amuse her? I don’t believe she’s a good woman, and I hate her. (Stamps her foot.) She shan’t have him—she—(bursts into quiet tears and, slipping down on ground, buries her face in chair by fire—pause—after a few seconds Luke Cranbourne appears in door c. front r., Mike Stratton behind him. Luke pauses on threshold and coughs. Deb. hastily rises, trying to hide her tears and stands r. Luke comes forward slowly, followed by Mike at some distance.)
LUKE. (After pause, coming forward r.c.) I—beg pardon—there was nobody about. Are Mrs. Rollitt and Mr. Rollitt at home?
DEB. Yes, they are at home. I will go and find them. (Crosses to l.) Who shall I say it is?
LUKE. (r.c.) Ah, thank you very much, my dear. Would you say Mr. Cranbourne—Mr. Luke Cranbourne and Mr. Richard Hanningford?
DEB. (Amazed.) Dick Hanningford!
LUKE. (Smiling.) You know the name?
DEB. Old Mr. Hanningford’s son? Why, we were only speaking of him just this instant, and wondering when he’d come back. (To Luke hesitatingly.) Are—are you—