POULDER. Well, I judged from your takin' cocoa. Funny thing that, about cocoa-how it still runs through the Liberal Party! It's virtuous, I suppose. Wine, beer, tea, coffee-all of 'em vices. But cocoa you might drink a gallon a day and annoy no one but yourself! There's a lot o' deep things in life, Miss! Miss S. Quite so. But I must find Anne. [She recedes. ] POULDER. [Suavely] Well, I wish you every success; and I hope you'll spank her. This modern education--there's no fruitiness in it. L. ANNE. [From under the table] Poulder, are you virtuous? POULDER. [Jumping] Good Ged! L. ANNE. D'you mind my asking? I promised James I would. POULDER. Miss Anne, come out! [The four footmen appear in the hall, HENRY carrying the wine cooler.] JAMES. Form fours-by your right-quick march! [They enter, marching down right of table.] Right incline--Mark time! Left turn! 'Alt! 'Enry, set the bomb! Stand easy! [HENRY places the wine cooler on the table and covers it with a blue embroidered Chinese mat, which has occupied the centre of the tablecloth.] POULDER. Ah! You will 'ave your game! Thomas, take the door there! James, the 'all! Admit titles an' bishops. No literary or Labour people. Charles and 'Enry, 'op it and 'ang about! [CHARLES and HENRY go out, the other too move to their stations.] [POULDER, stands by the table looking at the covered bomb. The hoarse and distant sounds of the Marseillaise float in again from Park Lane.] [Moved by some deep feeling] And this house an 'orspital in the war! I ask you--what was the good of all our sacrifices for the country? No town 'ouse for four seasons--rustygettin' in the shires, not a soul but two boys under me. Lord William at the front, Lady William at the back. And all for this! [He points sadly at the cooler] It comes of meddlin' on the Continent. I had my prognostications at the time. [To JAMES] You remember my sayin' to you just before you joined up: "Mark my words--we shall see eight per cent. for our money before this is over!" JAMES. [Sepulchrally] I see the eight per cent., but not the money. POULDER. Hark at that! [The sounds of the Marseillaise grow louder. He shakes his head.] I'd read the Riot Act. They'll be lootin' this house next! JAMES. We'll put up a fight over your body: "Bartholomew Poulder, faithful unto death!" Have you insured your life? POULDER. Against a revolution? JAMES. Act o' God! Why not? POULDER. It's not an act o' God. JAMES. It is; and I sympathise with it. POULDER. You--what? JAMES. I do--only--hands off the gov'nor. POULDER. Oh! Really! Well, that's something. I'm glad to see you stand behind him, at all events. JAMES. I stand in front of 'im when the scrap begins! POULDER. Do you insinuate that my heart's not in the right place?