The curtain falls.
ACT III
It is five o'clock of the same day. The scene is the smoking-room, with walls of Leander red, covered by old steeplechase and hunting prints. Armchairs encircle a high ferulered hearth, in which a fire is burning. The curtains are not yet drawn across mullioned windows, but electric light is burning. There are two doors, leading, the one to the billiard-room, the other to a corridor. BILL is pacing up and doom; HAROLD, at the fireplace, stands looking at him with commiseration.
BILL. What's the time?
HAROLD. Nearly five. They won't be in yet, if that's any consolation. Always a tough meet—[softly] as the tiger said when he ate the man.
BILL. By Jove! You're the only person I can stand within a mile of me, Harold.
HAROLD. Old boy! Do you seriously think you're going to make it any better by marrying her?
[Bill shrugs his shoulders, still pacing the room.]
BILL. Look here! I'm not the sort that finds it easy to say things.
HAROLD. No, old man.