ht. At the
most, drink, and fly a little in his past.

WELLWYN. Poor old buffer!

FERRAND. Touching, is it not, Monsieur? There are many brave gents
among the old cabbies--they have philosophy--that comes from 'orses,
and from sitting still.

WELLWYN. [Touching TIMSON's shoulder.] Drenched!

FERRAND. That will do 'im no 'arm, Monsieur-no 'arm at all. He is
well wet inside, remember--it is Christmas to-morrow. Put him a rug,
if you will, he will soon steam.

[WELLWYN takes up ANN's long red cloak, and wraps it round the
old man.]

TIMSON. [Faintly roused.] Tha's right. Put--the rug on th' old
'orse.

[He makes a strange noise, and works his head and tongue.]

WELLWYN. [Alarmed.] What's the matter with him?

FERRAND. It is nothing, Monsieur; for the moment he thinks 'imself a
'orse. 'Il joue "cache-cache,"' 'ide and seek, with what you call--
'is bitt.

WELLWYN. But what's to be done with him? One can't turn him out in
this state.

FERRAND. If you wish to leave him 'ere, Monsieur, have no fear. I
charge myself with him.

WELLWYN. Oh! [Dubiously.] You--er--I really don't know, I--hadn't
contemplated--You think you could manage if I--if I went to bed?

FERRAND. But certainly, Monsieur.

WELLWYN. [Still dubiously.] You--you're sure you've everything you
want?

FERRAND. [Bowing.] 'Mais oui, Monsieur'.

WELLWYN. I don't know what I can do by staying.

FERRAND. There is nothing you can do, Monsieur. Have confidence in
me.

WELLWYN. Well-keep the fire up quietly--very quietly. You'd better
take this coat of mine, too. You'll find it precious cold, I expect,
about three o'clock. [He hands FERRAND his Ulster.]

FERRAND. [Taking it.] I shall sleep in praying for you, Monsieur.

WELLWYN. Ah! Yes! Thanks! Well-good-night! By the way, I shall
be down rather early. Have to think of my household a bit, you know.

FERRAND. 'Tres bien, Monsieur'. I comprehend. One must well be
regular in this life.

WELLWYN. [With a start.] Lord! [He looks at the door of the
model's room.] I'd forgotten----

FERRAND. Can I undertake anything, Monsieur?

WELLWYN. No, no! [He goes to the electric light switch by the outer
door.] You won't want this, will you?

FERRAND. 'Merci, Monsieur'.

[WELLWYN switches off the light.]

FERRAND. 'Bon soir, Monsieur'!

WELLWYN. The devil! Er--good-night!

[He hesitates, rumples his hair, and passes rath