m, he might think himself lucky if I
married him.

MABEL. Indeed, and I'm not so sure.

DOT. [Making a face at her] What I was going to----

LADY CHESHIRE. But don't you think, dear, you'd better not?

DOT. Well, I won't say what I was going to say, but what I do say
is--Why the devil----

LADY CHESHIRE. Quite so, Dot!

DOT. [A little disconcerted.] If they're tired of each other, they
ought not to marry, and if father's going to make them----

CHRISTINE. You don't understand in the least. It's for the sake of
the----

DOT. Out with it, Old Sweetness! The approaching infant! God bless
it!

There is a sudden silence, for KEITH and LATTER are seen coming
from the dining-room.

LATTER. That must be so, Ronny.

KEITH. No, John; not a bit of it!

LATTER. You don't think!

KEITH. Good Gad, who wants to think after dinner!

DOT. Come on! Let's play pool. [She turns at the billiard-room
door.] Look here! Rehearsal to-morrow is directly after breakfast;
from "Eccles enters breathless" to the end.

MABEL. Whatever made you choose "Caste," DOT? You know it's awfully
difficult.

DOT. Because it's the only play that's not too advanced. [The girls
all go into the billiard-room.]

LADY CHESHIRE. Where's Bill, Ronny?

KEITH. [With a grimace] I rather think Sir William and he are in
Committee of Supply--Mem-Sahib.

LADY CHESHIRE. Oh!

She looks uneasily at the dining-room; then follows the girls
out.

LATTER. [In the tone of one resuming an argument] There can't be
two opinions about it, Ronny. Young Dunning's refusal is simply
indefensible.

KEITH. I don't agree a bit, John.

LATTER. Of course, if you won't listen.

KEITH. [Clipping a cigar] Draw it mild, my dear chap. We've had
the whole thing over twice at least.

LATTER. My point is this----

KEITH. [Regarding LATTER quizzically with his halfclosed eyes]
I know--I know--but the point is, how far your point is simply
professional.

LATTER. If a man wrongs a woman, he ought to right her again.
There's no answer to that.

KEITH. It all depends.

LATTER. That's rank opportunism.

KEITH. Rats! Look here--Oh! hang it, John, one can't argue this out
with a parson.

LATTER. [Frigidly] Why not?

HAROLD. [Who has entered from the dining-room] Pull devil, pull
baker!

KEITH. Shut up, Harold!

LATTER. "To play the game" is the religion even of the Army.

KEITH. Exactly, but