BUILDER. Is she—er—is she all right? We don't want any trouble with
Topping.
MRS BUILDER. There will be none with—Topping.
[She opens the door Left.]
BUILDER. I don't know; she strikes me as—very French.
MRS BUILDER smiles and passes out.
BUILDER fills his second pipe. He is just taking up the paper again when the door from the hall is opened, and the manservant TOPPING, dried, dark, sub-humorous, in a black cut-away, announces:
TOPPING. The Mayor, Sir, and Mr Harris!
THE MAYOR of Breconridge enters, He is clean-shaven, red-faced, light-eyed, about sixty, shrewd, poll-parroty, naturally jovial, dressed with the indefinable wrongness of a burgher; he is followed by his Secretary HARRIS, a man all eyes and cleverness. TOPPING retires.
BUILDER. [Rising] Hallo, Mayor! What brings you so early? Glad to see you. Morning, Harris!
MAYOR. Morning, Builder, morning.
HARRIS. Good-morning, Sir.