Fred. It's a profitable game when you can run to this after six months of it. Peter. It doesn't afford it. Did you ever hear of the hire system? A man who means to be a big success simply must have a decent address and be on the telephone. People won't believe in you if you're content to hide yourself up a mean street. Fred. But you _are_ a big success, Mr. Garside. Peter. Oh, I've not arrived yet. I'm ambitious. Fred. I like your pluck. Give me a quiet life and a thousand a year paid quarterly by the Bank of England. Security's my mark. Peter. I'm betting on a certainty when I put money on myself. Fred. I'm such a thrifty soul. I never risk more than 10 per cent of my income on certainties. That reminds me. Beversham. I must fly. See you later. (_Reaches door right._) About half an hour, Gladys. [_Peter goes out with him, is heard closing outer door, and returns immediately, closing door. Mrs. Gar-side yawns ostentatiously._ Glad. (_more with an air of saying something than meaning anything_). Strange that we should meet in the Strand by accident, Mr. Garside. Peter (_who has paid for the moment more attention to Mrs. Garside than to Gladys, speaking jerkily_). You call it accident? I call it Fate. (_Mrs. Garside executes another palpably diplomatic yawn._) You're tired, mother. Mrs. G. Yes. Peter. I'm sure Miss Mottram will excuse you. Mrs. G. Then I think I'll go to my bed. I'm an early bird. Good night, Miss Mottram. Glad, (_after a moment's twinge of conscience, accepting Mrs. Garside's hand_). Good night, Mrs. Garside. Mrs. G. (_to Peter, who opens right door_). I'll put your supper out. You'll only have your cocoa to make. [_Peter tries not to look angry at the intrusion of domestic details. Exit Mrs. Garside. Peter closes the door and stands by it. Gladys is still in the revolving chair with her back to the table._ Peter. Yes. Fate didn't mean us two to miss each other. Glad, (_lightly_). Do you believe in Fate? Peter. I believe in mine. I know I was born under a lucky star. I've a genius for overcoming obstacles, no matter what they are, Miss Mottram. I've the knack of getting what I want. Glad. Don't you find continuous success monotonous? Peter (_smiling_). They're such precious small successes. I'm on the foothills yet, and I've set myself a lot of peaks to climb, but already I'm in sight of the highest of them all. (_Looking at her hard._) Even from where I stand now I can glimpse the Mount Everest of my ambition. Glad. Happy man, to know what you want. Most of us poor creatures haven't the faintest idea what we want to do with our lives. Peter. I think better of you than that. You're not a bored society butterfly. Glad. Must one be in society to be bored? I am bored in Midlandton. Peter (_with the quickly acquired London attitude to the provinces_). Oh, Midlandton! Glad. We don't live in Midlandton. No one does. Midlandton! It sends a shiver up your baek like the tear of a sheet.