[_Taking his hand._] We have spoken too freely of--of Mrs. Jarman. I was excited--angry. Please forget it!

DRUMMLE.

My dear Aubrey, when we next meet I shall remember nothing but my respect for the lady who bears your name.

MORSE _enters, closing the door behind him carefully._

AUBREY.

What is it?

MORSE.

[_Hesitatingly._] May I speak to you, Sir? [_In an undertone._] Mrs.

Jarman, sir.

AUBREY.

[_Softly to_ MORSE.] Mrs. Jarman! Do you mean she is at the lodge in her carriage?

MORSE.

No, sir--here. [AUBREY _looks towards_ DRUMMLE, _perplexed._]

There's a nice fire in your--in that room, sir. [_Glancing in the direction of the door leading to the bedroom._]

AUBREY.

[_Between his teeth, angrily._] Very well.

[MORSE _retires._

DRUMMLE.

[_Looking at his watch._] A quarter to eleven--horrible! [_Taking up his hat and coat._] Must get to bed--up late every night this week.

[AUBREY _a.s.sists_ DRUMMLE _with his coat._] Thank you. Well, good-night, Aubrey. I feel I've been dooced serious, quite out of keeping with myself; pray overlook it.

AUBREY.

[_Kindly._] Ah, Cayley!

DRUMMLE.

[_Putting on a neck-handkerchief._] And remember that, after all, I'm merely a spectator in life; nothing more than a man at a play, in fact; only, like the old-fashioned playgoer, I love to see certain characters happy and comfortable at the finish. You understand?

AUBREY.

I think I do.

DRUMMLE.

Then, for as long as you can, old friend, will you--keep a stall for me?

AUBREY.

Yes, Cayley.

DRUMMLE.

[_Gaily._] Ah, ha! Good-night! [_Bustling to the door._] Don't bother! I'll let myself out! Good-night! G.o.d bless yer!

[_He goes out_; AUBREY _follows him._ MORSE _enters by the other door, carrying some unopened letters which after a little consideration he places on the mantelpiece against the clock._ AUBREY _returns._

AUBREY.

Yes?

MORSE.

You hadn't seen your letters that came by the nine o'clock post, sir; I've put 'em where they'll catch your eye by-and-by.

AUBREY.

Thank you.

MORSE.

[_Hesitatingly._] Gunter's cook and waiter have gone, sir. Would you prefer me to go to bed?

AUBREY.

[_Frowning._] Certainly not.

MORSE.

Very well, sir.

[_He goes out._

AUBREY.

[_Opening the upper door_] Paula! Paula!

PAULA _enters and throws her arms round his neck. She is a young woman of about twenty-seven: beautiful, fresh, innocent-looking. She is in superb evening dress._

PAULA.

Dearest!

AUBREY.