_Yardsley._ But you hope to. Well, I have no such mercenary motive. I'm not after the house.

_Barlow_ (_bristling up_). After the house? Mercenary motive? I demand an explanation of those words. What do you mean?

_Yardsley._ I mean this, Jack Barlow: I mean that I am here for--for my own reasons; but you--you have come here for the purpose of--

[_DOROTHY enters with a tray, upon which are the tea things._

_Barlow_ (_about to retort to YARDSLEY, perceiving DOROTHY_). Ah! Let me a.s.sist you.

_Dorothy._ Thank you so much. I really believe I never needed help more.

(_She delivers the tray to BARLOW, who sets it on the table. DOROTHY, exhausted, drops into a chair._) Fan me--quick--or I shall faint.

I've--I've had an awful time, and I really don't know what to do!

_Barlow_ and _Yardsley_ (_together_). Why, what's the matter?

_Yardsley._ I hope the house isn't on fire?

_Barlow._ Or that you haven't been robbed?

_Dorothy._ No, no; nothing like that. It's--it's about Jennie.

_Yardsley_ (_nervously_). Jennie? Wha--wha--what's the matter with Jennie?

_Dorothy._ I only wish I knew. I--

_Yardsley_ (_aside_). I'm glad you don't.

_Barlow._ What say?

_Yardsley._ I didn't say anything. Why should I say anything? I haven't anything to say. If people who had nothing to say would not insist upon talking, you'd be--

_Dorothy._ I heard the poor girl weeping down-stairs, and when I went to the dumb-waiter to ask her what was the matter, I heard--I heard a man's voice.

_Yardsley._ Man's voice?

_Barlow._ Man's voice is what Miss Andrews said.

_Dorothy._ Yes; it was Hicks, our coachman, and he was dreadfully angry about something.

_Yardsley_ (_sinking into chair_). Good Lord! Hicks! Angry!

At--something!

_Dorothy._ He was threatening to kill somebody.

_Yardsley._ This grows worse and worse! Threatening to kill somebody!

D-did-did you o-over-overhear huh-huh-whom he was going to kuk-kill?

_Barlow._ What's the matter with you, Yardsley? Are you going to die of fright, or have you suddenly caught a chill?

_Dorothy._ Oh, I hope not! Don't die here, anyhow, Mr. Yardsley. If you must die, please go home and die. I couldn't stand another shock to-day.

Why, really, I was nearly frightened to death. I don't know now but what I ought to send for the police, Hicks was so violent.

_Barlow._ Perhaps she and Hicks have had a lovers' quarrel.

_Yardsley._ Very likely; very likely, indeed. I think that is no doubt the explanation of the whole trouble. Lovers will quarrel. They were engaged, you know.

_Dorothy_ (_surprised_). No, I didn't know it. Were they? Who told you?

_Yardsley_ (_discovering his mistake_). Why--er--wasn't it you said so, Miss Dorothy? Or you, Barlow?

_Barlow._ I have not the honor of the young woman's confidence, and so could not have given you the information.

_Dorothy._ I didn't know it, so how could I have told you?

_Yardsley_ (_desperately_). Then I must have dreamed it. I do have the queerest dreams sometimes, but there's nothing strange about this one, anyhow. Parlor-maids frequently do--er--become engaged to coachmen and butlers and that sort of thing. It isn't a rare occurrence at all. If I'd said she was engaged to Billie Wilkins, or to--to Barlow here--

_Barlow._ Or to yourself.

_Yardsley._ Sir? What do you mean to insinuate? That I am engaged to Jennie?

_Barlow._ I never said so.

_Dorothy._ Oh, dear, let us have the tea. You quarrelsome men are just wearing me out. Mr. Barlow, do you want cream in yours?

_Barlow._ If you please; and one lump of sugar. (_DOROTHY pours it out._) Thanks.

_Dorothy._ Mr. Yardsley?

_Yardsley._ Just a little, Miss Andrews. No cream, and no sugar.

[_DOROTHY prepares a cup for YARDSLEY. He is about to take it when--_

_Dorothy._ Well, I declare! _It's nothing but hot water! I forgot the tea entirely!_

_Barlow_ (_with a laugh_). Oh, never mind. Hot water is good for dyspepsia.

[_With a significant look at YARDSLEY._

_Yardsley._ It depends on how you get it, Mr. Barlow. I've known men who've got dyspepsia from living in hot water too much.

[_As YARDSLEY speaks the portiere is violently clutched from without, and JENNIE'S head is thrust into the room. No one observes her._

_Barlow._ Well, my cup is very satisfactory to me, Miss Dorothy. Fact is, I've always been fond of cambric tea, and this is just right.

_Yardsley_ (_patronizingly_). It _is_ good for children.

_Jennie_ (_trying to attract YARDSLEY'S attention_). Pst!

_Yardsley._ My mamma lets me have it Sunday nights.