.

GEORGE. In future--see?

PAYNTER. Yes, sir. [Signing towards the window] Shall I leave the
sunset, sir?

But GEORGE has crossed to the curtained door; he opens it and
says: "Clare!" Receiving no answer, he goes in. PAYNTER
switches up the electric light. His face, turned towards the
curtained door, is apprehensive.

GEORGE. [Re-entering] Where's Mrs. Dedmond?

PAYNTER. I hardly know, sir.

GEORGE. Dined in?

PAYNTER. She had a mere nothing at seven, sir.

GEORGE. Has she gone out, since?

PAYNTER. Yes, sir--that is, yes. The--er--mistress was not dressed
at all. A little matter of fresh air, I think; sir.

GEORGE. What time did my mother say they'd be here for Bridge?

PAYNTER. Sir Charles and Lady Dedmond were coming at half-past nine;
and Captain Huntingdon, too--Mr. and Mrs. Fullarton might be a bit
late, sir.

GEORGE. It's that now. Your mistress said nothing?

PAYNTER. Not to me, sir.

GEORGE. Send Burney.

PAYNTER. Very good, sir. [He withdraws.]

GEORGE stares gloomily at the card tables. BURNEY comes in
front the hall.

GEORGE. Did your mistress say anything before she went out?

BURNEY. Yes, sir.

GEORGE. Well?

BURNEY. I don't think she meant it, sir.

GEORGE. I don't want to know what you don't think, I want the fact.

BURNEY. Yes, sir. The mistress said: "I hope it'll be a pleasant
evening, Burney!"

GEORGE. Oh!--Thanks.

BURNEY. I've put out the mistress's things, sir.

GEORGE. Ah!

BURNEY. Thank you, sir. [She withdraws.]

GEORGE. Damn!

He again goes to the curtained door, and passes through.
PAYNTER, coming in from the hall, announces: "General Sir
Charles and Lady Dedmond." SIR CHARLES is an upright,
well-groomed, grey-moustached, red-faced man of sixty-seven, with
a keen eye for molehills, and none at all for mountains. LADY
DEDMOND has a firm, thin face, full of capability and decision,
not without kindliness; and faintly weathered, as if she had
faced many situations in many parts of the world. She is fifty
five.

PAYNTER withdraws.

SIR CHARLES. Hullo! Where are they? H'm!

As he speaks, GEORGE re-enters.

LADY DEDMOND. [Kissing her son] Well, George. Where's Clare?

GEORGE. Afraid she's late.

LADY DEDMOND. Are we early?

GEORGE. As a matter of fact, she's not in.

LADY DEDMOND. Oh?

SIR CHARLES. H'm! Not-