Lady Patricia.
Sometimes, Baldwin, I wonder whether your amazing futility may not be a conscious pose.
Baldwin.
Beg pardon, mum?
Lady Patricia.
Oh, never mind....
(She goes out on the left, humming sweetly. Baldwin retires to the background and resumes his lantern watch. Clare enters by the central ladder quickly in breathless condition and drops into the deck-chair. Baldwin, unperceived, glances at her, then looks up at the lanterns again.)
Clare.
Safe! (With a sigh of relief she lights a cigarette.)