(_A burst of cheering is heard_. _A shrill male voice_: “_Three cheers for Winston Churchill_!” _It is followed by an explosion of yells_.) ST. HERBERT. Who’s that? LAMB. (_He has opened the window_.) Phoebe Mogton! SIGSBY. What a family! (JANET _has entered_.) JANET. Is that Mrs. Chilvers? (_To_ LAMB _and_ ST. HERBERT.) Good evening. ST. HERBERT. Good evening. LAMB. No; it’s her sister. JANET. I wonder she doesn’t come. SIGSBY. What are the latest figures? Do you know? (PHOEBE _enters_.) JANET. I forget the numbers. Mrs. Chilvers is forty ahead. PHOEBE. Forty ahead! (_To_ JANET.) Did you order the band? LAMB. (_To_ SIGSBY.) The Dock division was against him to a man; that Shipping Bill has upset them. JANET. No. I didn’t think we should want the band. PHOEBE. Not want it! My dear girl— JANET. Perhaps Lady Mogton has ordered it, I’ll ask her. (_She goes out_.) SIGSBY. Hadn’t you better “Wait and see”? It isn’t over yet. PHOEBE. We may as well have it! It can play the Dead March in “Saul” if you win. (_She laughs_.) SIGSBY. (_Grunts_. _To_ LAMB.) Are you coming? (_He goes out_.) LAMB. Yes. (_To_ ST. HERBERT.) Are you coming? ST. HERBERT. Hardly worth while; nearly over, isn’t it? LAMB. It generally takes an hour and a half. (_He looks at his watch_.) Another forty minutes. Perhaps less. (_He goes out_.) PHOEBE. I do love to make him ratty. Wish it wasn’t poor old Geoff we were fighting. ST. HERBERT. When I marry, it will be the womanly woman. PHOEBE. No chance for me then? ST. HERBERT. I don’t say that. I can see you taking your political opinions from your husband, and thinking them your own. PHOEBE. Good heavens! ST. HERBERT. The brainy woman will think for herself. And then I foresee some lively breakfast tables. PHOEBE. Humph! No fear, I suppose, of a man taking his views from his wife and thinking them his own? ST. HERBERT. That may be the solution. The brainy woman will have to marry the manly man. (GINGER _enters_.) JAWBONES. (_He is on his knees blowing the fire_. _In a low growl_.) Shut the door! GINGER. Can’t till I’m inside, can I? (_Shuts it_.) Where’s Lady Mogton? JAWBONES. I don’t know. PHOEBE. What do you want her for? GINGER. Only to tell her that I can’t find Chilvers. PHOEBE. Isn’t she here? GINGER. Not unless she’s come while I’ve been out. (JANET _enters_.) JANET. Oh, Lady Mogton— PHOEBE. (_Interrupting her_.) Isn’t Annys here? JANET. No. (_To_ GINGER.) Haven’t you found her? GINGER. (_Shakes her head_.) Been everywhere I could think of. PHOEBE. (_To herself_.) She couldn’t have gone home? Is there a telephone here?