_Woman_: So that I can go to the inquest or the police court or whatever it is. That's why I always keep friendly with magistrates. It's so frightfully thrilling, sitting on the bench with them. _Man_: There won't be any inquest. But there's something queer in it. You see, Priam Farll was never in England. Always abroad; at those foreign hotels, wandering up and down. _Woman (after a pause)_: I know. _Man_: What do you know? _Woman_: Will you promise not to chatter? _Man_: Yes. _Woman_: I met him once at an hotel at Ostend. He--well, he wanted most tremendously to paint my portrait. But I wouldn't let him. _Man_: Why not? _Woman_: If you knew what sort of man he was you wouldn't ask. _Man_: Oh! But look here, I say! You must let me use that in my story. Tell me all about it. _Woman_: Not for worlds. _Man_: He--he made up to you? _Woman_: Rather! _Priam Farll (to himself)_: What a barefaced lie! Never was at Ostend in my life. _Man_: Can't I use it if I don't print your name--just say a distinguished actress. _Woman_: Oh yes, you can do _that_. You might say, of the musical comedy stage. _Man_: I will. I'll run something together. Trust me. Thanks awfully. At this point a young and emaciated priest passed up the room. _Woman_: Oh! Father Luke, is that you? Do come and sit here and be nice. This is Father Luke Widgery--Mr. Docksey, of the _Record_. _Man_: Delighted. _Priest_: Delighted. _Woman_: Now, Father Luke, I've just _got_ to come to your sermon to-morrow. What's it about? _Priest_: Modern vice. _Woman_: How charming! I read the last one--it was lovely. _Priest_: Unless you have a ticket you'll never be able to get in. _Woman_: But I must get in. I'll come to the vestry door, if there is a vestry door at St. Bede's. _Priest_: It's impossible. You've no idea of the crush. And I've no favourites. _Woman_: Oh yes, you have! You have me. _Priest_: In my church, fashionable women must take their chance with the rest. _Woman_: How horrid you are. _Priest_: Perhaps. I may tell you, Miss Cohenson, that I've seen two duchesses standing at the back of the aisle of St. Bede's, and glad to be. _Woman_: But _I_ shan't flatter you by standing at the back of your aisle, and you needn't think it. Haven't I given you a box before now? _Priest_: I only accepted the box as a matter of duty; it is part of my duty to go everywhere. _Man_: Come with me, Miss Cohenson. I've got two tickets for the _Record_. _Woman_: Oh, so you do send seats to the press? _Priest_: The press is different. Waiter, bring me half a bottle of Heidsieck. _Waiter_: Half a bottle of Heidsieck? Yes, sir. _Woman_: Heidsieck. Well, I like that. _We're_ dieting.