Harlequin-Valet stands listening until the sound of the song dies away. He has a clothes' brush in his hand. Then he places the clothes he has been brushing on the Beau's chair in a ridiculous semblance of a man. He adds a wig to the wig stand which is behind it, puts a patch on the wig block; a cane to one sleeve, a snuff-box to the other; puts shoes to their place, so that the stockings dangle into them, and then stands back to admire his work. He bows low. Columbine dances on with a feather brush in her hand. He takes her to the clothes, and presents her to them with every formality. She curtseys. ALICE. You see, she's a new maid, and he's pretending that that's her master. Lord Eglantine ... Betty Richardson! It's rather wicked of them. [Harlequin waves his clothes' brush, and the wig stand bows back. He waves it again, and all the clothes tumble together in a heap. One hears the front door bang. Harlequin waves Columbine into the bedroom, sweeps the clothes together into a neat pile and stands waiting by the door. There enters Lord Eglantine, the Beau. A trifle pale, disordered, calm. He has been gambling all night. To the rhythm of a minuet Harlequin takes his cloak, hat, and cane, takes off his coat and gets him into a gorgeous dressing-gown, and so into his chair. And there he sits looking for all the world like the bundle of clothes come to life. In the next room Columbine begins to sing again, and Lord Eglantine leans forward to listen. EGLANTINE. Maunds of cowslips, honey bags of bees! Whose voice is that? HARLEQUIN. Ten thousand pardons, my lord, it is the chambermaid. EGLANTINE. She has a name? HARLEQUIN. Richardson, my lord. EGLANTINE. Richardson. Are there people called Richardson? Interesting! HARLEQUIN. I will stop her, my lord. We did not expect your lordship to return so soon. EGLANTINE. No. A woman singing ... in my bedroom. Dusting yesterday's cares away to make room for the cares of to-morrow. Put that down. I may want to say it again. What is she singing? You know everything. HARLEQUIN. A country song, my lord. EGLANTINE. Is the country like that? Handkerchief. [The word has hardly left his lips before the handkerchief, neatly unfolded, is in his hand. What a valet! She has stopped. Put the door ajar so that I see her. [Harlequin looks at the door. It opens and stands obediently ajar. A picture of innocence. Putting her hair tidy before my mirror. She is like a ... [He has almost forgotten those little things that grow so prettily.] ... when I was a boy they grew in the garden. HARLEQUIN. Flower, my lord? EGLANTINE. I must give her a guinea. Give me a guinea. Send her to me. HARLEQUIN. Certainly, my lord. [He beckons to Columbine, and she dances on. EGLANTINE. So you are a chambermaid?