[He puts his hand into his breast pocket.]
PRESS. Oh, thank you! But you see, I shall have to write you up a bit, Lord William. The old aristocracy—you know what the public still expects; if you were to lend me money, you might feel——
LORD W. By Jove! Never should have dreamt——
PRESS. No! But it wouldn't do. Have you a photograph of yourself.
LORD W. Not on me.
PRESS. Pity! By the way, has it occurred to you that there may be another bomb on the premises?
LORD W. Phew! I'll have a look.
[He looks at his watch, and begins hurriedly searching the bins, bending down and going on his knees. THE PRESS reverses the notebook again and sketches him.]
PRESS. [To himself] Ah! That'll do. "Lord William examines the foundations of his house."
[A voice calls "Bill!" THE PRESS snaps the note-book to, and looks up. There, where the "communication trench" runs in, stands a tall and elegant woman in the extreme of evening dress.]