_Furness_ (_at the telephone_). Yes--yes--no, Lorenzo--both ways. What? Oh, I beg your pardon, I thought it was--is it you, Diana?... You _will_ come? Good. _Enter_ John Staffurth. _Staffurth._ Good morning. (_Looking at his watch._) I want a little talk with you if you aren't busy, _Furness._ Certainly. (_Handing box._) Won't you begin a cigarette? _Staffurth_ (_taking out case_). Thanks, I'll begin one of my own. (_Does so._) Now then. My sister-in-law--or cousin or--anyhow, my friend Miss--or Mrs.--Cullen, Barbara Cullen, who--er--is still with us, told me some days ago that you were about to elope with my wife. Is that so? _Furness._ Yes. _Staffurth._ Yes. I ought to have spoken to you about it before, but I have been very busy lately at the House. The Government is bringing in its Bill for the Abolition of Telephones on the Stage, and it is necessary for the full strength of the Opposition to be there. As I said in my speech, any such Bill would, to take a case, ruin Mr. TEMPLE THURSTON'S new play at the Haymarket, and recent by-elections have shown that the country was---- However, I need not bother you with that. The point is that I have at last managed to get away to see you, and I want to know what it is you propose to do. _Furness._ I'm going to send in my papers and take your wife away with me. _Staffurth._ Ah! Then perhaps before you ruin your career I'd better tell you what the doctors say about her, She is not---- _Furness_ (_impatiently_). My dear chap, I know. She told me last night. But it's all right, I don't much care for them myself. _Staffurth._----not likely to live for more than eighteen months. _Furness._ My God! _Staffurth._ That's what we all said several times when we heard it. Well? _Furness._ Well, I mean, this wants thinking about. I had no---- My career--only eighteen months---- _Staffurth_ (_breaking out at last_). You beastly egotist! You think of nothing but your rotten career. You cur, you hound, you dog! You---- _Furness_ (_annoyed_). Now I warn you, Staffurth, I may only be about half your size, but I shall have to thrash you severely if you talk like that. _Staffurth._ You dog. _Furness_ (_with dignity_). For the sake of your wife, go before I climb up you and strike you. [_Exit_ Staffurth. CURTAIN. * * * * * Illustration: A THREATENED STRIKE. _John Staffurth_ .. Mr. C. AUBREY SMITH. _CAPTAIN FURNESS_ .. MR. OWEN NARES. * * * * * III. _The Drawing-room again._ _Barbara_ (_joyfully_). Diana, I've got some exciting news for you. Guess! _Diana._ You're going away? _Barbara._ No! _Diana._ Oh, well, after all you've only stayed with us six months. Er--you've got a new dress? _Barbara._ No. _Diana._ No; that was a silly one. Er--John's got a half-holiday? _Barbara._ No. Well, I must tell you! Diana, you're not going to die after all! The doctors made a mistake! [_Exit._