Glad. The first time was an accident. Fred. The second was a crime. Glad, (_rising, and speaking enthusiastically_). I went again because I admired the man. I liked to hear that ringing voice, to be one of that wild enthusiastic crowd bewitched by the spell of his personality. He saw me too. I stood at the back of the crowd, but he saw me and he spoke for me for me. Our eyes met, and I know he spoke for me alone. Fred, (_sitting and leaning back, fanning his face_). Why didn't you warn me? I didn't know I was to meet my future brother-in-law to-night. Glad. Don't be absurd, Freddie. (_Sitting again._) It's because he's doing so well that father asked him here, and we've to keep him as long as possible. Fred, (_looking at watch_). My ducats, oh, my ducats! Why? Glad. Because every moment that he's prevented from speaking is a loss to him and a gain to us. As Mayor, father's supposed to be neutral, at the election, so that gives him an excuse to entertain Garside and spoil his speaking for one night, anyhow. Fred. That's a bit tricky. Glad. All's fair in war. Fred. And love, Gladys, and love. Glad. Don't be sillier than you can help. Fred. Besides, they'll have others to keep the ball rolling while he's here. Glad. There's a firebrand of a woman speaking every night who's about as popular as he is. Fred, (_interested_). A woman? Is she good-looking? Glad. I don't know. Fred. You wouldn't. You'd only eyes for him. Glad. She doesn't speak on the same platforms with him. Fred. Don't blame her, either. Only one star turn to each show, eh? Glad. Anyhow, father's instructions are to keep Garside here till he comes home, if we can. Fred. All right. Tell Timson to lock him up in the pantry and keep him there till the election's over. Glad. Afraid that's too crude, Freddie. I'll do my best to hold him for to-night. Fred. Oh? Be careful. Flirtation's a risky game even when both sides know the rules. It's always apt to end in marriage; and that chap won't know the rules. Much better lock him up. Glad. Kidnapping's out of date. Fred. Oh, you want him to get in. He's fascinated you. Glad, (_tartly_). That's doubtless why I've been canvassing for Mr. Beverley all day, while you've been watching a cricket match. Fred. Hang it, Glad, someone's got to support-county cricket. I did a jolly plucky thing to-day. Wore old Beverley's colours and nearly got mobbed in the bar by a beastly gang of Radicals. Glad. You shouldn't go into bars. Fred. And you shouldn't hang about street corners with a set of Socialists. Serve you right if you'd got your pocket picked. I'd rather be an open drinker than a secret revolutionist any day. [_Enter Lady Mottram. She is white-haired and authoritative in manner, dressed in a high evening gown, too freely jewelled. Freddie rises._ Fred. Hullo, mater. Any luck? Lady M. If you mean by that expression has Mr. Garside arrived, he has not. (_Crosses to Chesterfield._)