FREDA. Yes. SIR WILLIAM. Be good enough to tell him I specially want to see him here after dinner, will you? FREDA. Yes, Sir William. SIR WILLIAM. By the way, just ask him to bring the game-book in, if he's got it. He goes out into the drawing-room; and FREDA stands restlessly tapping her foot against the bottom stair. With a flutter of skirts CHRISTINE KEITH comes rapidly down. She is a nice-looking, fresh-coloured young woman in a low-necked dress. CHRISTINE. Hullo, Freda! How are YOU? FREDA. Quite well, thank you, Miss Christine--Mrs. Keith, I mean. My lady told me to give you these. CHRISTINE. [Taking the roses] Oh! Thanks! How sweet of mother! FREDA. [In a quick, toneless voice] The others are for Miss Lanfarne. My lady thought white would suit her better. CHRISTINE. They suit you in that black dress. [FREDA lowers the roses quickly.] What do you think of Joan's engagement? FREDA. It's very nice for her. CHRISTINE. I say, Freda, have they been going hard at rehearsals? FREDA. Every day. Miss Dot gets very cross, stage-managing. CHRISTINE. I do hate learning a part. Thanks awfully for unpacking. Any news? FREDA. [In the same quick, dull voice] The under-keeper, Dunning, won't marry Rose Taylor, after all. CHRISTINE. What a shame! But I say that's serious. I thought there was--she was--I mean---- FREDA. He's taken up with another girl, they say. CHRISTINE. Too bad! [Pinning the roses] D'you know if Mr. Bill's come? FREDA. [With a swift upward look] Yes, by the six-forty. RONALD KEITH comes slowly down, a weathered firm-lipped man, in evening dress, with eyelids half drawn over his keen eyes, and the air of a horseman. KEITH. Hallo! Roses in December. I say, Freda, your father missed a wigging this morning when they drew blank at Warnham's spinney. Where's that litter of little foxes? FREDA. [Smiling faintly] I expect father knows, Captain Keith. KEITH. You bet he does. Emigration? Or thin air? What? CHRISTINE. Studdenham'd never shoot a fox, Ronny. He's been here since the flood. KEITH. There's more ways of killing a cat--eh, Freda? CHRISTINE. [Moving with her husband towards the drawing-room] Young Dunning won't marry that girl, Ronny. KEITH. Phew! Wouldn't be in his shoes, then! Sir William'll never keep a servant who's made a scandal in the village, old girl. Bill come? As they disappear from the hall, JOHN LATTER in a clergyman's evening dress, comes sedately downstairs, a tall, rather pale young man, with something in him, as it were, both of heaven, and a drawing-room. He passes FREDA with a formal little nod. HAROLD, a fresh-cheeked, cheery-looking youth, comes down, three steps at a time. HAROLD. Hallo, Freda! Patience on the monument. Let's have a sniff! For Miss Lanfarne? Bill come down yet? FREDA. No, Mr. Harold.