L. ANNE. Oh, James, be a friend to me! I've seen nothing yet. JAMES. No; but you've eaten a good bit, on the stairs. What price that Peach Melba? L. ANNE. I can't go to bed till I've digested it can I? There's such a lovely crowd in the street! JAMES. Lovely? Ho! L. ANNE. [Wheedling] James, you couldn't tell Miss Stokes! It isn't in you, is it? JAMES. [Grinning] That's right. L. ANNE. So-I'll just get under here. [She gets under the table] Do I show? JAMES. [Stooping] Not 'arf! [POULDER enters from the hall.] POULDER. What are you doin' there? JAMES. [Between him and the table--raising himself] Thinkin'. [POULDER purses his mouth to repress his feedings.] POULDER. My orders are to fetch the bomb up here for Lady William to inspect. Take care no more writers stray in. JAMES. How shall I know 'em? POULDER. Well--either very bald or very hairy. JAMES. Right-o! [He goes.] [POULDER, with his back to the table, busies himself with the set of his collar.] POULDER. [Addressing an imaginary audience--in a low but important voice] The--ah--situation is seerious. It is up to us of the--ah-- leisured classes---- [The face of LITTLE ANNE is poked out close to his legs, and tilts upwards in wonder towards the bow of his waistcoat.] to--ah--keep the people down. The olla polloi are clamourin'---- [Miss STOKES appears from the hall, between the pillars.] Miss S. Poulder! POULDER. [Making a volte face towards the table] Miss? MISS S. Where is Anne? POULDER. [Vexed at the disturbance of his speech] Excuse me, Miss-- to keep track of Miss Anne is fortunately no part of my dooties. [Miss S. She really is naughty.] POULDER. She is. If she was mine, I'd spank her. [The smiling face of LITTLE ANNE becomes visible again close to his legs.] MISS S. Not a nice word. POULDER. No; but a pleasant haction. Miss Anne's the limit. In fact, Lord and Lady William are much too kind 'earted all round. Take these sweated workers; that class o' people are quite 'opeless. Treatin' them as your equals, shakin 'ands with 'em, givin 'em tea-- it only puffs 'em out. Leave it to the Church, I say. MISS S. The Church is too busy, Poulder. POULDER. Ah! That "Purity an' Future o' the Race Campaign." I'll tell you what I thinks the danger o' that, Miss. So much purity that there won't be a future race. [Expanding] Purity of 'eart's an excellent thing, no doubt, but there's a want of nature about it. Same with this Anti-Sweating. Unless you're anxious to come down, you must not put the lower classes up. MISS S. I don't agree with you at all, Poulder. POULDER. Ah! You want it both ways, Miss. I should imagine you're a Liberal. MISS S. [Horrified] Oh, no! I certainly am not.