[Mrs. Tid. glares at him suspiciously.
Conversational Scraps. And when I got into the hall and saw them all sitting in a row with their faces blacked, I said "I'm sure they can't be the Young Men's Christian Association!"... Hysteria? my poor dear wife is a dreadful sufferer from it—I've known her unable to sleep at all except with one foot curled round her neck!... (&c. &c.)
Lord Strath. (to himself.) There's no doubt about it—this woman is trying to snub me—hardly brings herself to talk at all—and then she's beastly rude! What did she ask me here for if she can't be civil! If she wasn't my hostess—I'll try her once more, she may know something about antiquities—(Aloud.) I suppose Mr. Cartouche keeps his collection in a separate room? I was told he has some hunting scarabs of the Amenhoteps that I am very curious to see.
Mrs. Tid. (stiffly). Mr. Cartouche may keep all sorts of disagreeable pets, for anything I know to the contrary.
Lord Strath. (to himself, in amazement). Pets! I'm hanged if I let myself be snubbed like this! (Aloud.) I'm afraid you have very little sympathy with his tastes?
Mrs. Tid. Sympathy, indeed! I don't even know if he has any tastes. I am not in the habit of troubling myself about my next-door neighbour's affairs.
Lord Strath. (with a gasp). Your next-door——! (He pulls himself together.) To be sure—of course not—stupid of me to ask! (To himself.) Good Heavens!—these aren't the Cartouches! I'm at the wrong dinner-party—and this awful woman thinks I've done it on purpose! No wonder she's so confoundedly uncivil!... And Marjory knows it, too, and won't speak to me! Perhaps they all know it.... What on earth am I to do?... I feel such a fool!
Miss Seaton (to herself). How perfectly ghastly Douglas is looking! Didn't he really know the Cartouches lived next door?... Then—oh, what an idiot I've been! It's a mistake—he doesn't come from Blankley's at all! I must speak to him—I must tell him how——no, I can't—I forgot how horrid I've been to him! I should have to tell him I believed that—and I'd rather die! No, it's too late—it's too late now!
[Miss Seaton and Lord Strathsporran sit regarding the tablecloth with downcast eyes, and expressions of the deepest gloom and confusion.
(End of Scene V.)