Claude.
I’m talking rot, aren’t I?
[He notices the letter, which he had put on the table, and picks it up. Grace catches her breath.
Claude.
Hulloa! I forgot to open this. Moore gave it me as I came in. [With surprise.] It’s your hand-writing.
Grace.
[Quite naturally, holding out her hand.] It’s nothing. I was afraid I should have gone out by the time you came in, and I wanted to remind you about the herbaceous border. It’s only a note.
Claude.
[Giving her the letter.] Are you going out?
Grace.