LOB. That's enough. (Warningly.) Don't you go, Mrs. Dearth. You'll catch it if you go. ALICE. A second chance! (She goes out unflinching.) LADY CAROLINE. One would like to know. (She goes out. MRS. COADE'S voice is heard from the stair calling to her husband. He hesitates but follows LADY CAROLINE. To LOB now alone comes MATEY with a tray of coffee cups.) MATEY (as he places his tray on the table). It is past your bed-time, sir. Say good-night to the ladies, and come along. LOB. Matey, look! (MATEY looks.) MATEY (shrinking). Great heavens, then it's true! LOB. Yes, but I--I wasn't sure. (MATEY approaches the window cautiously to peer out, and his master gives him a sudden push that propels him into the wood. LOB's back is toward us as he stands alone staring out upon the unknown. He is terrified still; yet quivers of rapture are running up and down his little frame.) ACT II We are translated to the depths of the wood in the enchantment of a moonlight night. In some other glade a nightingale is singing, in this one, in proud motoring attire, recline two mortals whom we have known in different conditions; the second chance has converted them into husband and wife. The man, of gross muddy build, lies luxurious on his back exuding affluence, a prominent part of him heaving playfully, like some little wave that will not rest in a still sea. A handkerchief over his face conceals from us what Colossus he may be, but his mate is our Lady Caroline. The nightingale trills on, and Lady Caroline takes up its song. LADY CAROLINE. Is it not a lovely night, Jim. Listen, my own, to Philomel; he is saying that he is lately married. So are we, you ducky thing. I feel, Jim, that I am Rosalind and that you are my Orlando. (The handkerchief being removed MR. MATEY is revealed; and the nightingale seeks some farther tree.) MATEY. What do you say I am, Caroliny? LADY CAROLINE (clapping her hands). My own one, don't you think it would be fun if we were to write poems about each other and pin them on the tree trunks? MATEY (tolerantly). Poems? I never knew such a lass for high-flown language. LADY CAROLINE. Your lass, dearest. Jim's lass. MATEY (pulling her ear). And don't you forget it. LADY CAROLINE (with the curiosity of woman). What would you do if I were to forget it, great bear? MATEY. Take a stick to you. LADY CAROLINE (so proud of him). I love to hear you talk like that; it is so virile. I always knew that it was a master I needed. MATEY. It's what you all need. LADY CAROLINE. It is, it is, you knowing wretch. MATEY. Listen, Caroliny. (He touches his money pocket, which emits a crinkly sound--the squeak of angels.) That is what gets the ladies. LADY CAROLINE. How much have you made this week, you wonderful man? MATEY (blandly). Another two hundred or so. That's all, just two hundred or so. LADY CAROLINE (caressing her wedding ring). My dear golden fetter, listen to him. Kiss my fetter, Jim. MATEY. Wait till I light this cigar.