MRS. OTERY. The parson here is a very old man, but he is not tall and thin, he is little and roundish with a soft face and white whiskers. HARRY. Whiskers? I can’t think he had whiskers. (_Ruminating._) _Had_ he whiskers? Stop a bit, I believe it is his wife I’m thinking about. I doubt I don’t give satisfaction as a sentimental character. Is there any objection, your ladyship, to smoking in the drawing-room? MRS. OTERY (_ungraciously_). Smoke if you want. (_He hacks into a cake of tobacco with a large clasp knife._) That’s a fearsome-looking knife. HARRY. Useful in trench warfare. It’s not a knife, it’s a visiting-card. You leave it on favoured parties like this. (_He casts it at one of the packing-cases, and it sticks quivering in the wood._) MRS. OTERY. Were you an officer? HARRY. For a few minutes now and again. MRS. OTERY. You’re playing with me. HARRY. You’re so irresistible. MRS. OTERY. Do you want to see the other rooms? HARRY. I was fondly hoping you would ask me that. MRS. OTERY. Come along then. (_She wants to lead him downstairs, but the little door at the back has caught his eye._) HARRY. What does that door open on? MRS. OTERY (_avoiding looking at it_). Nothing, it’s just a cupboard door. HARRY (_considering her_). Who is playing with me now? MRS. OTERY. I don’t know what you mean. Come this way. HARRY (_not budging_). I’ll explain what I mean. That door--it’s coming back to me--it leads into a little dark passage. MRS. OTERY. That’s all. HARRY. That can’t be all. Who ever heard of a passage wandering about by itself in a respectable house! It leads--yes--to a single room, and the door of the room faces this way. (_He opens the door, and a door beyond is disclosed._) There’s a memory for you! But what the hell made you want to deceive me? MRS. OTERY. It’s of no consequence. HARRY. I think--yes--the room in there has two stone windows--and wooden rafters. MRS. OTERY. It’s the oldest part of the house. HARRY. It comes back to me that I used to sleep there. MRS. OTERY. That may be. If you’ll come down with me---- HARRY. I’m curious to see that room first. (_She bars the way._) MRS. OTERY (_thin-lipped and determined_). You can’t go in there. HARRY. Your reasons? MRS. OTERY. It’s--locked. I tell you it’s just an empty room. HARRY. There must be a key. MRS. OTERY. It’s--lost. HARRY. Queer your anxiety to stop me, when you knew I would find the door locked. MRS. OTERY. Sometimes it’s locked; sometimes not. HARRY. Is it not you that locks it? MRS. OTERY (_reluctantly_). It’s never locked, it’s held. HARRY. Who holds it? MRS. OTERY (_in a little outburst_). Quiet, man. HARRY. You’re all shivering. MRS. OTERY. I’m not. HARRY (_cunningly_). I suppose you are just shivering because the room is so chilly. MRS. OTERY (_falling into the trap_). That’s it. HARRY. So you are shivering! (_She makes no answer, and he reflects with the help of his pipe._)