entleman. But he don't count. The grey mare's all
right. You wire to Henry. I'm off to our solicitors. We'll make
that old rhinoceros sell us back the Centry at a decent price.
These Hornblowers--[Laying his finger on his nose] We've got 'em!

CURTAIN

SCENE II

CHLOE's boudoir at half-past seven the same evening. A pretty
room. No pictures on the walls, but two mirrors. A screen and
a luxurious couch an the fireplace side, stage Left. A door
rather Right of Centre Back; opening inwards. A French window,
Right forward: A writing table, Right Back. Electric light
burning.

CHLOE, in a tea-gown, is standing by the forward end of the
sofa, very still, and very pale. Her lips are parted, and her
large eyes stare straight before them as if seeing ghosts: The
door is opened noiselessly and a WOMAN'S face is seen. It
peers at CHLOE, vanishes, and the door is closed. CHLOE raises
her hands, covers her eyes with them, drops them with a quick
gesture, and looks round her. A knock. With a swift movement
she slides on to the sofa, and lies prostrate, with eyes
closed.

CHLOE. [Feebly] Come in!

[Her Maid enters; a trim, contained figure of uncertain years,
in a black dress, with the face which was peering in.]

Yes, Anna?

ANNA. Aren't you going in to dinner, ma'am?

CHLOE. [With closed eyes] No.

ANNA. Will you take anything here, ma'am?

CHLOE. I'd like a biscuit and a glass of champagne.

[The MAID, who is standing between sofa and door, smiles.
CHLOE, with a swift look, catches the smile.]

Why do you smile?

ANNA. Was I, ma'am?

CHLOE. You know you were. [Fiercely] Are you paid to smile at me?

ANNA. [Immovable] No, ma'am, Would you like some eau de Cologne on
your forehead?

CHLOE. Yes.--No.--What's the good? [Clasping her forehead] My
headache won't go.

ANNA. To keep lying down's the best thing for it.

CHLOE. I have been--hours.

ANNA. [With the smile] Yes, ma'am.

CHLOE. [Gathering herself up on the sofa] Anna! Why do you do it?

ANNA. Do what, ma'am?

CHLOE. Spy on me.

ANNA. I--never! I----!

CHLOE. To spy! You're a fool, too. What is there to spy on?

ANNA. Nothing, ma'am. Of course, if you're not satisfied with me,
I must give notice. Only--if I were spying, I should expect to have
notice given me. I've