(_Going._) I’ll be back in a moment. CLARE. No, stay here. Your tie-pin will do for one. I’ve a safety-pin here (_fiddling at her waist_), and another somewhere in my collar.... Bring a cushion here. MICHAEL. A cushion?... CLARE. (_Still searching for her pins._) Yes—a cushion. (_In a dazed way he fetches one from LADY PATRICIA’S chair._) Put it down. MICHAEL. The cushion?... (_He stands helplessly holding the cushion, then puts it back, on the chair._) CLARE. Don’t play the giddy goat, Mike! Put the cushion on the ground. MICHAEL. Oh, yes—yes, of course. (_He places it at her feet._) CLARE. Kneel down. MICHAEL. Eh? CLARE. Kneel on the cushion. I want to spare your old joints. MICHAEL. Oh.... (_He kneels with a mirthless laugh._) CLARE. Now we’ll see if you’re worth your keep. Here are two safety-pins. Make that tear look respectable. MICHAEL. But—— CLARE. If these safety-pins aren’t enough, use your tie-pin. MICHAEL. (_Setting to work._) Very well. CLARE. I shall want you afterwards to fasten up the hooks behind.... (_A pause._) How are you getting on? MICHAEL. All right, thanks. (_He works at her skirt for a moment in silence._) CLARE. (_Abruptly._) What’s that boy like? MICHAEL. What boy? CLARE. Bill O’Farrel. MICHAEL. He’s given you a fair specimen of himself in the silly prank he played just now. CLARE. Oh, that seemed to me rather a sporting thing to do. MICHAEL. A sporting thing! CLARE. Yes. To make an utter ass of himself, and then carry it off with a string of lies. How are you getting on? MICHAEL. (_Surveying his handiwork._) I think that looks better. CLARE. It’ll have to do, anyhow.... Now for the hooks. (_MICHAEL sets to work at the back of her dress._) Begin at the top. I daresay some of the eyes have got torn. I gave the dress an awful wrench on the tree. Do the best you can.... Oh, don’t fumble about like that! (_MICHAEL’S hands tremble as he works. A pause._) MICHAEL. (_In a low voice._) Clare.... CLARE. Well? MICHAEL. I love you.... (_A long pause. He stares with breathless expectation at the back of her head. She looks straight before her._) CLARE. Have you finished all the hooks? MICHAEL. The hooks?... I—I beg your pardon.... (_He goes on with his work for a time in silence._) Are you angry with me? CLARE. I don’t know. MICHAEL. You must have known for some time that I loved you. CLARE. (_Turning on him._) Then why do you always annoy me by making love to—to your wife when I’m there? (_MICHAEL still kneels on the cushion, looking up at her with abject eyes._) Why don’t you speak? MICHAEL. Clare—— CLARE.