MEGAN. Depends. Sometimes I wins a lot. BERTLEY. You know that's not at all what I mean. Come, promise me to give it up. MEGAN. I dunno abaht that. BERTLEY. Now, there's a good fellow. Make a big effort and throw the habit off! MEGAN. Comes over me--same as it might over you. BERTLEY. Over me! How do you mean, my boy? MEGAN. [With a look up.] To tork! [WELLWYN, turning to the picture, makes a funny little noise.] BERTLEY. [Maintaining his good humour.] A hit! But you forget, you know, to talk's my business. It's not yours to gamble. MEGAN. You try sellin' flowers. If that ain't a--gamble BERTLEY. I'm afraid we're wandering a little from the point. Husband and wife should be together. You were brought up to that. Your father and mother---- MEGAN. Never was. WELLWYN. [Turning from the picture.] The question is, Megan: Will you take your wife home? She's a good little soul. MEGAN. She never let me know it. [There is a feeble knock on the door.] WELLWYN. Well, now come. Here she is! [He points to the door, and stands regarding MEGAN with his friendly smile.] MEGAN. [With a gleam of responsiveness.] I might, perhaps, to please you, sir. BERTLEY. [Appropriating the gesture.] Capital, I thought we should get on in time. MEGAN. Yus. [WELLWYN opens the door. MRS. MEGAN and FERRAND are revealed. They are about to enter, but catching sight of MEGAN, hesitate.] BERTLEY. Come in! Come in! [MRS. MEGAN enters stolidly. FERRAND, following, stands apart with an air of extreme detachment. MEGAN, after a quick glance at them both, remains unmoved. No one has noticed that the door of the model's room has been opened, and that the unsteady figure of old TIMSON is standing there.] BERTLEY. [A little awkward in the presence of FERRAND--to the MEGANS.] This begins a new chapter. We won't improve the occasion. No need. [MEGAN, turning towards his wife, makes her a gesture as if to say: "Here! let's get out of this!"] BENTLEY. Yes, yes, you'll like to get home at once--I know. [He holds up his hand mechanically.] TIMSON. I forbids the banns. BERTLEY, [Startled.] Gracious! TIMSON. [Extremely unsteady.] Just cause and impejiment. There 'e stands. [He points to FERRAND.] The crimson foreigner! The mockin' jay! WELLWYN. Timson! TIMSON. You're a gen'leman--I'm aweer o' that but I must speak the truth--[he waves his hand] an' shame the devil! BERTLEY. Is this the rum--? TIMSON. [Struck by the word.] I'm a teetotaler. WELLWYN. Timson, Timson! TIMSON. Seein' as there's ladies present, I won't be conspicuous. [Moving away, and making for the door, he strikes against the dais, and mounts upon it.] But what I do say, is: He's no better than 'er and she's worse. BERTLEY. This is distressing. FERRAND. [Calmly.] On my honour, Monsieur! [TIMSON growls.] WELLWYN. Now, now, Timson!