iness. It's not yours to gamble.

MEGAN. You try sellin' flowers. If that ain't a--gamble

BERTLEY. I'm afraid we're wandering a little from the point.
Husband and wife should be together. You were brought up to that.
Your father and mother----

MEGAN. Never was.

WELLWYN. [Turning from the picture.] The question is, Megan: Will
you take your wife home? She's a good little soul.

MEGAN. She never let me know it.

[There is a feeble knock on the door.]

WELLWYN. Well, now come. Here she is!

[He points to the door, and stands regarding MEGAN with his
friendly smile.]

MEGAN. [With a gleam of responsiveness.] I might, perhaps, to
please you, sir.

BERTLEY. [Appropriating the gesture.] Capital, I thought we should
get on in time.

MEGAN. Yus.

[WELLWYN opens the door. MRS. MEGAN and FERRAND are revealed.
They are about to enter, but catching sight of MEGAN,
hesitate.]

BERTLEY. Come in! Come in!

[MRS. MEGAN enters stolidly. FERRAND, following, stands apart
with an air of extreme detachment. MEGAN, after a quick glance
at them both, remains unmoved. No one has noticed that the
door of the model's room has been opened, and that the unsteady
figure of old TIMSON is standing there.]

BERTLEY. [A little awkward in the presence of FERRAND--to the
MEGANS.] This begins a new chapter. We won't improve the occasion.
No need.

[MEGAN, turning towards his wife, makes her a gesture as if to
say: "Here! let's get out of this!"]

BENTLEY. Yes, yes, you'll like to get home at once--I know. [He
holds up his hand mechanically.]

TIMSON. I forbids the banns.

BERTLEY, [Startled.] Gracious!

TIMSON. [Extremely unsteady.] Just cause and impejiment. There 'e
stands. [He points to FERRAND.] The crimson foreigner! The mockin'
jay!

WELLWYN. Timson!

TIMSON. You're a gen'leman--I'm aweer o' that but I must speak the
truth--[he waves his hand] an' shame the devil!

BERTLEY. Is this the rum--?

TIMSON. [Struck by the word.] I'm a teetotaler.

WELLWYN. Timson, Timson!

TIMSON. Seein' as there's ladies present, I won't be conspicuous.
[Moving away, and making for the door, he strikes against the dais,
and mounts upon it.] But what I do say, is: He's no better than 'er
and she's worse.

BERTLEY. This is distressing.

FERRAND. [Calmly.] On my honour, Monsieur!

[TIMSON growls.]

WELLWYN. Now,