RANGER (violently). What the hell's it got to do with you who I am.
You go and tell your master I'm here--that's all you've got to do.
See?

PERKINS (unruffled). Easy, now, easy. You 'aven't even told me your
name yet. Is it the Shah of Persia or Mr. Bottomley?

STRANGER. The less said about names the better. You say, "Somebody
from Lambeth"--_he'll_ know what I mean.

PERKINS (humorously). Ah, I beg your pardon--the Archbishop of
Canterbury. I didn't recognise your Grace.

STRANGER (angrily). It's people like you who make one sick of the
world. Parasites--servile flunkeys, bolstering up an effete
aristocracy. Why don't you get some proper work to do?

PERKINS (good-naturedly). Now, look here, young man, this isn't the
time for that sort of talk. If you've got anything you want to get off
your chest about flunkeys or monkeys, or whatever it may be, keep it
till Sunday afternoon--when I'm off duty. (He comes a little closer to
THE STRANGER) Four o'clock Sunday afternoon--(jerking his thumb over
his shoulder)--just round the corner--in the Bolton Mews. See? Nobody
there to interrupt us. See? All quite gentlemanly and secluded, and a
friend of mine to hold the watch. See? (He edges closer as he talks.)

STRANGER (retreating nervously). No offence meant, mate. We're in the
same boat--you and me; we don't want to get fighting. My quarrel isn't
with you. You go and tell Sir John that there's a gentleman come to
see him--wants a few minutes of his valuable time--from Lambeth way.
_He'll_ know. That's all right.

PERKINS (drawing back, disappointedly). Then I shan't be seeing you
Sunday afternoon?

STRANGER (laughing awkwardly). There, that's all right. No offence
meant. Somebody from Lambeth--that's what _you've_ got to say. And
tell 'im I'm in a hurry. _He'll_ know what I mean.

PERKINS (going slowly to the door). Well, it's a queer game, but being
in the 'Ouse of Commons, one can't never be surprised. All sorts, as
you might say, _all_ sorts.

[Exit PERKINS.

(THE STRANGER, left alone, walks up and down the room, nervously
impatient.)

(LADY PEMBURY comes in. In twenty-eight years of happy married life,
she has mothered one husband and five daughters, but she has never had
a son--her only sorrow. Her motto might be, "It is just as easy to be
kind"; and whether you go to her for comfort or congratulation, you
will come away feeling that she is the only person who really
understands.)

LADY PEMBURY. Oh! (