_.

(_The_ Parlourmaid _holds the door for them, and then exit_.)

MRS. CULVER. This is my husband. Arthur, dear--Mr. Sampson Straight. And
this is my little daughter. (Hilda _bows_, John _surveys the scene with
satisfaction_.)

CULVER (_recovering his equipoise; shaking hands heartily_). Mr.
Straight. Delighted to meet you. I simply cannot tell you how unexpected
this pleasure is.

STRAIGHT. You're too kind.

CULVER (_gaily_). I doubt it. I doubt it.

STRAIGHT. I ought to apologise for coming in like this. But I've been so
charmingly received by Mrs. Culver--

MRS. CULVER. You've been so charming about my boy, Mr. Straight.
STRAIGHT. I was so very greatly impressed by your son this morning at
the Club that I couldn't resist the opportunity he gave me of visiting
his home. What I say is: like parents, like child. I'm an old-fashioned
man.

MRS. CULVER. No one would guess that from your articles in _The Echo_.
Of course they're frightfully clever, but you know I don't quite agree
with all your opinions.

STRAIGHT. Neither do I. You see--there's always a difference between
what one thinks and what one has to write.

MRS. CULVER. I'm so glad. (Culver _starts and looks round_.) What is it,
Arthur?

CULVER. Nothing! I thought I heard the ice cracking. (Hildegarde _begins
to smile_.)

STRAIGHT (_looking at the floor; simply_). Ice?

MRS. CULVER. Arthur!

STRAIGHT. It was still thawing when I came in. As I was saying, I'm an
old-fashioned man. And I'm a provincial--and proud of it.

MRS. CULVER. But my dear Mr. Straight, really, if you'll excuse me, you
look as if you never left the pavement of Piccadilly. CULVER. Say the
windows of the Turf club, darling.

STRAIGHT (_serenely_). No. I live very, very quietly on my little place,
and when I feel the need of contact with the great world I run over for
the afternoon to--St. Ives.

MRS. CULVER. How remarkable! Then that explains how it is you're so
deliciously unspoilt.

STRAIGHT. Do you mean my face?

MRS. CULVER. I meant you don't seem at all to realise that you're a very
great celebrity in London; very great indeed. A lion of the first order.

STRAIGHT (_simply_). Lion?

CULVER. You're expected to roar, Mr. Straight.

STRAIGHT. Roar?

MRS. CULVER. It may interest you to know that my little daughter also
writes articles in _The Echo_. Yes, about war cookery. But of course you
wouldn't notice them. (Hildegarde _moves away_.) I'm afraid
(_apologeti