[He moves towards the doors, the three workers follow.]

MRS. ANN. [Stopping before JAMES] You 'yn't one, I suppose?

[JAMES stirs no muscle.]

POULDER. Now please. [He opens the doors. The Voice of LORD WILLIAM speaking is heard] Pa.s.s in.

[THE THREE WORKERS pa.s.s in, POULDER and JAMES follow them. The doors are not closed, and through this aperture comes the voice of LORD WILLIAM, punctuated and supported by decorous applause.]

[LITTLE ANNE runs in, and listens at the window to the confused and distant murmurs of a crowd.]

VOICE OF LORD W. We propose to move for a further advance in the chain-making and--er--er--match-box industries. [Applause.]

[LITTLE ANNE runs across to the door, to listen.]

[On rising voice] I would conclude with some general remarks.

Ladies and gentlemen, the great natural, but--er--artificial expansion which trade experienced the first years after the war has-- er--collapsed. These are hard times. We who are fortunate feel more than ever--er--responsible--[He stammers, loses the thread of his thoughts.]--[Applause]--er--responsible--[The thread still eludes him]--er----

L. ANNE. [Poignantly] Oh, Daddy!

LORD W. [Desperately] In fact--er--you know how--er--responsible we feel.

L. ANNE. Hooray! [Applause.]

[There float in through the windows the hoa.r.s.e and distant sounds of the Ma.r.s.eillaise, as sung by London voices.]

LORD W. There is a feeling in the air--that I for one should say deliberately was--er--a feeling in the air--er--a feeling in the air----

L. ANNE. [Agonised] Oh, Daddy! Stop!

[Jane enters, and closes the door behind him. JAMES. Look here! 'Ave I got to report you to Miss Stokes?]

L. ANNE. No-o-o!

JAMES. Well, I'm goin' to.

L. ANNE. Oh, James, be a friend to me! I've seen nothing yet.

JAMES. No; but you've eaten a good bit, on the stairs. What price that Peach Melba?

L. ANNE. I can't go to bed till I've digested it can I? There's such a lovely crowd in the street!

JAMES. Lovely? Ho!

L. ANNE. [Wheedling] James, you couldn't tell Miss Stokes! It isn't in you, is it?

JAMES. [Grinning] That's right.

L. ANNE. So-I'll just get under here. [She gets under the table]

Do I show?

JAMES. [Stooping] Not 'arf!

[POULDER enters from the hall.]

POULDER. What are you doin' there?

JAMES. [Between him and the table--raising himself] Thinkin'.

[POULDER purses his mouth to repress his feedings.]

POULDER. My orders are to fetch the bomb up here for Lady William to inspect. Take care no more writers stray in.

JAMES. How shall I know 'em?

POULDER. Well--either very bald or very hairy.

JAMES. Right-o! [He goes.]

[POULDER, with his back to the table, busies himself with the set of his collar.]

POULDER. [Addressing an imaginary audience--in a low but important voice] The--ah--situation is seerious. It is up to us of the--ah-- leisured cla.s.ses----

[The face of LITTLE ANNE is poked out close to his legs, and tilts upwards in wonder towards the bow of his waistcoat.]

to--ah--keep the people down. The olla polloi are clamourin'----

[Miss STOKES appears from the hall, between the pillars.]

Miss S. Poulder!

POULDER. [Making a volte face towards the table] Miss?

MISS S. Where is Anne?

POULDER. [Vexed at the disturbance of his speech] Excuse me, Miss-- to keep track of Miss Anne is fortunately no part of my dooties.

[Miss S. She really is naughty.]

POULDER. She is. If she was mine, I'd spank her.

[The smiling face of LITTLE ANNE becomes visible again close to his legs.]

MISS S. Not a nice word.

POULDER. No; but a pleasant haction. Miss Anne's the limit. In fact, Lord and Lady William are much too kind 'earted all round.

Take these sweated workers; that cla.s.s o' people are quite 'opeless.

Treatin' them as your equals, shakin 'ands with 'em, givin 'em tea-- it only puffs 'em out. Leave it to the Church, I say.