the
Professor? What did he say?

WELLWYN. Well, the Professor said [with a quick glance at BERTLEY]
he felt there was nothing for some of these poor devils but a lethal
chamber.

BERTLEY. [Shocked.] Did he really!

[He has not yet caught WELLWYN' s glance.]

WELLWYN. And Sir Thomas agreed. Historic occasion. And you, Vicar
H'm!

[BERTLEY winces.]

ANN. [To herself.] Well, there isn't.

BERTLEY. And yet! Some good in the old fellow, no doubt, if one
could put one's finger on it. [Preparing to go.] You'll let us
know, then, when you're settled. What was the address? [WELLWYN
takes out and hands him a card.] Ah! yes. Good-bye, Ann.
Good-bye, Wellyn. [The wind blows his hat along the street.] What
a wind! [He goes, pursuing.]

ANN. [Who has eyed the card askance.] Daddy, have you told those
other two where we're going?

WELLWYN. Which other two, my dear?

ANN. The Professor and Sir Thomas.

WELLWYN. Well, Ann, naturally I----

ANN. [Jumping on to the dais with disgust.] Oh, dear! When I'm
trying to get you away from all this atmosphere. I don't so much
mind the Vicar knowing, because he's got a weak heart----

[She jumps off again. ]

WELLWYN. [To himself.] Seventh floor! I felt there was something.

ANN. [Preparing to go.] I'm going round now. But you must stay
here till the van comes back. And don't forget you tipped the men
after the first load.

WELLWYN. Oh! Yes, yes. [Uneasily.] Good sorts they look, those
fellows!

ANN. [Scrutinising him.] What have you done?

WELLWYN. Nothing, my dear, really----!

ANN. What?

WELLWYN. I--I rather think I may have tipped them twice.

ANN. [Drily.] Daddy! If it is the first of April, it's not
necessary to make a fool of oneself. That's the last time you ever
do these ridiculous things. [WELLWYN eyes her askance.] I'm going
to see that you spend your money on yourself. You needn't look at
me like that! I mean to. As soon as I've got you away from here,
and all--these----

WELLWYN. Don't rub it in, Ann!

ANN. [Giving him a sudden hug--then going to the door--with a sort
of triumph.] Deeds, not words, Daddy!

[She goes out, and the wind catching her scarf blows it out
beneath her firm young chin. WELLWYN returning to the fire,
stands brooding, and gazing at his extinct cigarette.]

WELLWYN. [To himself.] Bad lot--low type! No method! No theory!

[In the open