HAKE. Well, you see, miss, in my case, I rarely getting home much before midnight, it would make it so late. Yesterday being my night off, things fitted in, so to speak. Will there be any writing, miss? PHOEBE. Yes. See that there’s plenty of blotting-paper. (_To_ ELIZABETH.) Mamma always splashes so. HAKE. Yes, miss. (_He goes out_.) ELIZABETH. Did you ever hear anything more delightfully naïve? He “gave” her the evening out. That’s how they think of us—as their servants. The gentleman hasn’t the courage to be straightforward about it. The butler blurts out the truth. Why are we meeting here instead of at our own place? PHOEBE. For secrecy, I expect. Too many gasbags always about the office. I fancy—I’m not quite sure—that mamma’s got a new idea. ELIZABETH. Leading to Holloway? PHOEBE. Well, most roads lead there. ELIZABETH. And end there—so far as I can see. PHOEBE. You’re too impatient. ELIZABETH. It’s what our friends have been telling us—for the last fifty years. PHOEBE. Look here, if it was only the usual sort of thing mamma wouldn’t want it kept secret. I’m inclined to think it’s a new departure altogether. (_The door opens_. _There enters_ JANET BLAKE, _followed by_ HAKE, _who proceeds with his work_. JANET BLAKE _is a slight_, _fragile-looking creature_, _her great dark eyes—the eyes of a fanatic—emphasise the pallor of her childish face_. _She is shabbily dressed_; _a plain_, _uninteresting girl until she smiles_, _and then her face becomes quite beautiful_. PHOEBE _darts to meet her_.) Good girl. Was afraid—I say, you’re wet through. JANET. It was only a shower. The ’buses were all full. I had to ride outside. PHOEBE. Silly kid, why didn’t you take a cab? JANET. I’ve been reckoning it up. I’ve been half over London chasing Mrs. Mountcalm-Villiers. Cabs would have come, at the very least, to twelve-and-six. PHOEBE. Well— JANET (_To_ ELIZABETH.) Well—I want you to put me down as a contributor for twelve-and-six. (_She smiles_.) It’s the only way I can give. PHOEBE. (_She is taking off_ JANET’S _cloak_; _throws it to_ HAKE.) Have this put somewhere to dry. (_She pushes_ JANET _to the fire_.) Get near the fire. You’re as cold as ice. ELIZABETH. All the seats inside, I suppose, occupied by the chivalrous sex. JANET. Oh, there was one young fellow offered to give me up his place, but I wouldn’t let him. You see, we’re claiming equality. (_Smiles_.) ELIZABETH. And are being granted it—in every direction where it works to the convenience of man. PHOEBE. (_Laughs_.) Is she coming—the Villiers woman? JANET. Yes. I ran her down at last—at her dress-maker’s. She made an awful fuss about it, but I wouldn’t leave till she’d promised. Tell me, it’s something quite important, isn’t it?