Cray. Why not? What are you afraid of?
Car. I'm not afraid of you. I think you know that.
Cray. That long fool will be back in a minute. You'll see me somehow to-night, because—you've damned well got to—d'you understand?
Car. I haven't the smallest notion why you want to see me, but since fate has played me a final dirty trick by throwing us together again, perhaps we had better understand each other. So you can come here this evening for half-an-hour. I shall be alone. You had better tap at the window.
Cray. That'll do—I'll come.
Car. What time shall I have the honor?
Cray. I'll get here about nine.
Car. (smiling) Nine! You must make it earlier than that. I expect I shall be rather busy about nine.
Cray. Eight-thirty then.
Car. Yes, that would suit me. (crosses to porch and then stops)