MRS. POPOV. Go away! Take your hands off me! I hate you—you—this is—
[A long kiss.
[Enter Luka with an axe, the gardener with a rake, the coachman with a pitchfork, and workmen with poles.
LUKA. [Staring at the pair.] Merciful heavens!
[A long pause.
MRS. POPOV. [Dropping her eyes.] Tell them in the stable that Tobby isn't to have any oats.
CURTAIN