Nogam. [Quickly.] Mr. Fiddler, sir, please to let it alone.
Fiddler. [Putting the chair down in surprise.] Does it live on its blooming head?
Nogam. Don't you remember? She threw it on its head when she left here, and he won't have it up. Ah, that's it—hat, sewing-basket and all,—the whole rig is to remain as it was when she handed him his knock-out. [A bell rings outside.
Fiddler. There's the guv'nor—I hear him!
Nogam. I'll serve the supper. [Taking a letter from his pocket and putting it on the mantel.] Mr. Fiddler, would you mind giving this to the guv'nor? It's from his lawyer—his lawyer couldn't find him and left it with me. He said it was very important. [The bell rings again. Speaking from the door to Sir Wilfrid.] I'm coming, sir!
Nogam goes out, shutting the door. John Karslake comes in. His hat is pushed over his eyes; his hands are buried in his pockets, and his appearance generally is one of weariness and utter discouragement. He walks into the room slowly and heavily. He sees Fiddler, who salutes, forgetting the letter. John slowly sinks into the arm-chair near his study table.
John. [As he walks to his chair.] Hello, Fiddler! [After a pause, John throws himself into a chair, keeping his hat on. He throws down his gloves, sighing.
Fiddler. Came in to see you, sir, about Cynthia K.
John. [Drearily.] Damn Cynthia K!—
Fiddler. Couldn't have a word with you?