MARLOW. [Stoutly.] I don't——I never believes anything of anybody.
WHEELER. But the master'll have to be told.
MARLOW. You wait a bit, and see if it don't turn up. Suspicion's no business of ours. I set my mind against it.
The curtain falls.
The curtain rises again at once.
SCENE III
BARTHWICK and MRS. BARTHWICK are seated at the breakfast table. He is a man between fifty and sixty; quietly important, with a bald forehead, and pince-nez, and the "Times" in his hand. She is a lady of nearly fifty, well dressed, with greyish hair, good features, and a decided manner. They face each other.
BARTHWICK. [From behind his paper.] The Labour man has got in at the by-election for Barnside, my dear.
MRS. BARTHWICK. Another Labour? I can't think what on earth the country is about.
BARTHWICK. I predicted it. It's not a matter of vast importance.