[MRS. JONES goes out with pan and brush. MARLOW and WHEELER
look each other in the face.]
MARLOW. It'll turn up.
WHEELER. [Hesitating.] You don't think she----
[Nodding at the door.]
MARLOW. [Stoutly.] I don't----I never believes anything of
anybody.
WHEELER. But the master'll have to be told.
MARLOW. You wait a bit, and see if it don't turn up. Suspicion's
no business of ours. I set my mind against it.
The curtain falls.
The curtain rises again at once.
SCENE III
BARTHWICK and MRS. BARTHWICK are seated at the breakfast table.
He is a man between fifty and sixty; quietly important, with a
bald forehead, and pince-nez, and the "Times" in his hand. She
is a lady of nearly fifty, well dressed, with greyish hair,
good features, and a decided manner. They face each other.
BARTHWICK. [From behind his paper.] The Labour man has got in at
the by-election for Barnside, my dear.
MRS. BARTHWICK. Another Labour? I can't think what on earth the
country is about.
BARTHWICK. I predicted it. It's not a matter of vast importance.
MRS. BARTHWICK. Not? How can you take it so calmly, John? To me
it's simply outrageous.
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