DOT. [With her bandbox-gloomily] You'll feel more of a fool when you
have begun. [To BILL, who is staring into the workroom] Shut the
door. Now. [BILL shuts the door.]

LATTER. [Advancing] Look here! I want to clear up a point of
psychology before we start.

DOT. Good Lord!

LATTER. When I bring in the milk--ought I to bring it in seriously--
as if I were accustomed--I mean, I maintain that if I'm----

JOAN. Oh! John, but I don't think it's meant that you should----

DOT. Shut up! Go back, John! Blow the milk! Begin, begin, begin!
Bill!

LATTER. [Turning round and again advancing] But I think you
underrate the importance of my entrance altogether.

MABEL. Oh! no, Mr. Latter!

LATTER. I don't in the least want to destroy the balance of the
scene, but I do want to be clear about the spirit. What is the
spirit?

DOT. [With gloom] Rollicking!

LATTER. Well, I don't think so. We shall run a great risk, with
this play, if we rollick.

DOT. Shall we? Now look here----!

MABEL. [Softly to BILL] Mr. Cheshire!

BILL. [Desperately] Let's get on!

DOT. [Waving LATTER back] Begin, begin! At last!
[But JACKSON has came in.]

JACKSON. [To CHRISTINE] Studdenham says, Mm, if the young ladies
want to see the spaniel pups, he's brought 'em round.

JOAN. [Starting up] Oh! come 'on, John!
[She flies towards the door, followed by LATTER.]

DOT. [Gesticulating with her book] Stop! You----
[CHRISTINE and HAROLD also rush past.]

DOT. [Despairingly] First pick! [Tearing her hair] Pigs! Devils!
[She rushes after them. BILL and MABEL are left alone.]

MABEL. [Mockingly] And don't you want one of the spaniel pups?

BILL. [Painfully reserved and sullen, and conscious of the workroom
door] Can't keep a dog in town. You can have one, if you like. The
breeding's all right.

MABEL. Sixth Pick?

BILL. The girls'll give you one of theirs. They only fancy they
want 'em.

Mann. [Moving nearer to him, with her hands clasped behind her] You
know, you remind me awfully of your father. Except that you're not
nearly so polite. I don't understand you English-lords of the soil.
The way you have of disposing of your females. [With a sudden change
of voice] What was the matter with you last night? [Softly] Won't
you tell me?

BILL. Nothing to tell.

MABEL. Ah! no, Mr. Bill.

BILL. [Almost succumbing to her voice--then sullenly] Worried, I
suppose.