uals, shakin 'ands with 'em, givin 'em tea--
it only puffs 'em out. Leave it to the Church, I say.

MISS S. The Church is too busy, Poulder.

POULDER. Ah! That "Purity an' Future o' the Race Campaign." I'll
tell you what I thinks the danger o' that, Miss. So much purity that
there won't be a future race. [Expanding] Purity of 'eart's an
excellent thing, no doubt, but there's a want of nature about it.
Same with this Anti-Sweating. Unless you're anxious to come down,
you must not put the lower classes up.

MISS S. I don't agree with you at all, Poulder.

POULDER. Ah! You want it both ways, Miss. I should imagine you're
a Liberal.

MISS S. [Horrified] Oh, no! I certainly am not.

POULDER. Well, I judged from your takin' cocoa. Funny thing that,
about cocoa-how it still runs through the Liberal Party! It's
virtuous, I suppose. Wine, beer, tea, coffee-all of 'em vices. But
cocoa you might drink a gallon a day and annoy no one but yourself!
There's a lot o' deep things in life, Miss!

Miss S. Quite so. But I must find Anne.

[She recedes. ]

POULDER. [Suavely] Well, I wish you every success; and I hope
you'll spank her. This modern education--there's no fruitiness in
it.

L. ANNE. [From under the table] Poulder, are you virtuous?

POULDER. [Jumping] Good Ged!

L. ANNE. D'you mind my asking? I promised James I would.

POULDER. Miss Anne, come out!

[The four footmen appear in the hall, HENRY carrying the wine
cooler.]

JAMES. Form fours-by your right-quick march!

[They enter, marching down right of table.]

Right incline--Mark time! Left turn! 'Alt! 'Enry, set the bomb!
Stand easy!

[HENRY places the wine cooler on the table and covers it with a
blue embroidered Chinese mat, which has occupied the centre of
the tablecloth.]

POULDER. Ah! You will 'ave your game! Thomas, take the door there!
James, the 'all! Admit titles an' bishops. No literary or Labour
people. Charles and 'Enry, 'op it and 'ang about!

[CHARLES and HENRY go out, the other too move to their
stations.]

[POULDER, stands by the table looking at the covered bomb. The
hoarse and distant sounds of the Marseillaise float in again
from Park Lane.]

[Moved by some deep feeling] And this house an 'orspital in the war!
I ask you--what was the good of all our sacrifices for the country?
No town 'ouse for four seasons--rustygettin' in