Thank you. Now I can be quite happy. I say, we shall be so late.
[She runs off. Grace gives a little answering laugh to hers; and as Edith Lewis goes out, it lengthens into a mirthless, low, hysterical peal, broken with sobs.
THE THIRD ACT
[The dining-room at Kenyon Fulton. It is a fine room with French windows leading into the garden. On the walls are departed Insoleys of the last two or three generations, stiff ladies and gentlemen of the Victorian era, military-looking fellows in the uniform of the early nineteenth century, and ungainly Georgian squires with their wives in powdered hair. Between the windows, standing well away from the wall, rather far back, is a round table laid out for breakfast. On the Sheraton sideboard is a cloth, a stand for keeping dishes warm, a large ham, and plates and forks and spoons. Against the wall opposite the sideboard are a row of chairs, and there are half a dozen chairs round the table. There are doors right and left.
It is the morning after the events which occur in the Second Act, and when the curtain rises prayers have just finished. Claude is seated at the table with an immense prayer-book and a still larger Bible in front of him. The rest of the party are rising to their feet. They have been kneeling against various chairs. They consist of Mrs. Insoley, Miss Hall, and Miss Vernon. Well away from them, emphasising the fact that even the Almighty must recognise the difference between the gentry and their inferiors, have been praying the servants. They have been kneeling against the row of chairs that line the wall, according to their precedence, ranging from the Cook at one end to the Butler at the other; and they consist of the Cook, obese, elderly and respectable, Mrs. Insoley’s Maid, two Housemaids, the Kitchenmaid, the Footman, and Moore the butler. When they have scrambled to their feet they pause for a moment to gather themselves together, and, headed by the Cook, walk out. The Butler takes the Bible and the prayer-book off the table and carries them away. Claude gets up. He takes up his letters and the Times, which he puts under his arm.
Mrs. Insoley.
I didn’t see Grace’s maid, Claude.
Claude.
I dare say Grace couldn’t spare her.