FULLARTON. [Taking half-cover between his wife and CLARE] It suits you down to the ground-that dress. CLARE. Good-night. HUNTINGDON sees them out. Left alone CLARE clenches her hands, moves swiftly across to the window, and stands looking out. HUNTINGDON. [Returning] Look here, Clare! CLARE. Well, Reggie? HUNTINGDON. This is working up for a mess, old girl. You can't do this kind of thing with impunity. No man'll put up with it. If you've got anything against George, better tell me. [CLARE shakes her head] You ought to know I should stick by you. What is it? Come? CLARE. Get married, and find out after a year that she's the wrong person; so wrong that you can't exchange a single real thought; that your blood runs cold when she kisses you--then you'll know. HUNTINGDON. My dear old girl, I don't want to be a brute; but it's a bit difficult to believe in that, except in novels. CLARE. Yes, incredible, when you haven't tried. HUNTINGDON. I mean, you--you chose him yourself. No one forced you to marry him. CLARE. It does seem monstrous, doesn't it? HUNTINGDON. My dear child, do give us a reason. CLARE. Look! [She points out at the night and the darkening towers] If George saw that for the first time he'd just say, "Ah, Westminster! Clock Tower! Can you see the time by it?" As if one cared where or what it was--beautiful like that! Apply that to every --every--everything. HUNTINGDON. [Staring] George may be a bit prosaic. But, my dear old girl, if that's all---- CLARE. It's not all--it's nothing. I can't explain, Reggie--it's not reason, at all; it's--it's like being underground in a damp cell; it's like knowing you'll never get out. Nothing coming--never anything coming again-never anything. HUNTINGDON. [Moved and puzzled] My dear old thing; you mustn't get into fantods like this. If it's like that, don't think about it. CLARE. When every day and every night!--Oh! I know it's my fault for having married him, but that doesn't help. HUNTINGDON. Look here! It's not as if George wasn't quite a decent chap. And it's no use blinking things; you are absolutely dependent on him. At home they've got every bit as much as they can do to keep going. CLARE. I know. HUNTINGDON. And you've got to think of the girls. Any trouble would be very beastly for them. And the poor old Governor would feel it awfully. CLARE. If I didn't know all that, Reggie, I should have gone home long ago. HUNTINGDON. Well, what's to be done? If my pay would run to it--but it simply won't. CLARE. Thanks, old boy, of course not. HUNTINGDON. Can't you try to see George's side of it a bit? CLARE. I do. Oh! don't let's talk about it. HUNTINGDON. Well, my child, there's just one thing you won't go sailing near the wind, will you? I mean, there are fellows always on the lookout. CLARE. "That chap, Malise, you'd better avoid him!" Why?