_Lord Gumthorpe_ is leaning against the window; _Angela Thynne_ is leaning against the Chesterfield, and _Lady Gastwyck_ is leaning against the Adams' fireplace. _Lord Gumthorpe_ is a tall, gaunt man, slightly resembling the portrait of PHILIP IV. of Spain, by VELASQUEZ. He turns towards _Lady Gastwyck_ and waves his long arms with a gesture of indecision. He then turns back and looks out on to the lawn. _Angela Thynne_, is a large, ill-proportioned woman, with curiously limpid blue eyes, and a shrill hard voice like a fog-siren, that does not seem to belong to her personality. One is always haunted with the idea that she might be Scotch. _Lady Gastwyck_ rises. She is a short dark woman with deep-set eyes and one very remarkable characteristic. She has apparently only one eyebrow. She really has two, but they meet together in one dark straight line, and give her a forbidding aspect. She has a habit of walking with her chin thrust forward and her long arms curved like a boxer's. She advances upon _Lord Gumthorpe_. He instinctively puts up his hands as though expecting to be struck. LADY GASTWYCK. _You think then that we--that is, that you and I----_ [She waves her hand towards the moonlit lawn. It might be an action of dismissal, or an appeal to the elemental forces. _Lord Gumthorpe_ drops limply on to the window-seat and presses his forehead against the stone mullion. Then he stands up and gazes at her face, trying not to appear to be looking at her one eyebrow. LORD GUMTHORPE (with tremulous indecision). _Yes! but you see----_ [As he stands there the extraordinary resemblance between him and VELASQUEZ' portrait of PHILIP IV. of Spain comes home to her with such force that she is about to qualify her half-stated implication, when _Angela Thynne_ drops her fan into the fireplace. She has moved to the seat that _Lady Gastwyck_ had vacated. She is leaning forward with lips parted, and her limpid blue eyes gazing at the dead embers. _Lady Gastwyck_ recoils as though struck by a whip. She moves to the Chesterfield and leans against it, biting her nails. _Lord Gumthorpe_ moves deeper into the recess, struggling with the emotions which the astounding act of _Angela_ has produced. As he sits there, the moonlight, pouring through the diamond panes of the window, throws rhomboids of light on to the polished floor. It looks like some enchanted chessboard. Leaning back and gazing with half-closed eyes, he peoples it with fantastic rooks, and knights and bishops, when suddenly the strangely penetrating voice of _Angela_ breaks the silence. ANGELA. _Would it be possible for you two to----_ [There is a terrifying silence.] _Lord Gumthorpe_ (greedily). _Pawn to Queen's pawn four!_