DAWKER. [To the STRANGER, with a wink] The Squire's squeamish--too much of a gentleman. But he don't count. The grey mare's all right. You wire to Henry. I'm off to our solicitors. We'll make that old rhinoceros sell us back the Centry at a decent price. These Hornblowers--[Laying his finger on his nose] We've got 'em! CURTAIN SCENE II CHLOE's boudoir at half-past seven the same evening. A pretty room. No pictures on the walls, but two mirrors. A screen and a luxurious couch an the fireplace side, stage Left. A door rather Right of Centre Back; opening inwards. A French window, Right forward: A writing table, Right Back. Electric light burning. CHLOE, in a tea-gown, is standing by the forward end of the sofa, very still, and very pale. Her lips are parted, and her large eyes stare straight before them as if seeing ghosts: The door is opened noiselessly and a WOMAN'S face is seen. It peers at CHLOE, vanishes, and the door is closed. CHLOE raises her hands, covers her eyes with them, drops them with a quick gesture, and looks round her. A knock. With a swift movement she slides on to the sofa, and lies prostrate, with eyes closed. CHLOE. [Feebly] Come in! [Her Maid enters; a trim, contained figure of uncertain years, in a black dress, with the face which was peering in.] Yes, Anna? ANNA. Aren't you going in to dinner, ma'am? CHLOE. [With closed eyes] No. ANNA. Will you take anything here, ma'am? CHLOE. I'd like a biscuit and a glass of champagne. [The MAID, who is standing between sofa and door, smiles. CHLOE, with a swift look, catches the smile.] Why do you smile? ANNA. Was I, ma'am? CHLOE. You know you were. [Fiercely] Are you paid to smile at me? ANNA. [Immovable] No, ma'am, Would you like some eau de Cologne on your forehead? CHLOE. Yes.--No.--What's the good? [Clasping her forehead] My headache won't go. ANNA. To keep lying down's the best thing for it. CHLOE. I have been--hours. ANNA. [With the smile] Yes, ma'am. CHLOE. [Gathering herself up on the sofa] Anna! Why do you do it? ANNA. Do what, ma'am? CHLOE. Spy on me. ANNA. I--never! I----! CHLOE. To spy! You're a fool, too. What is there to spy on? ANNA. Nothing, ma'am. Of course, if you're not satisfied with me, I must give notice. Only--if I were spying, I should expect to have notice given me. I've been accustomed to ladies who wouldn't stand such a thing for a minute. CHLOE: [Intently] Well, you'll take a month's wages and go tomorrow. And that's all, now. [ANNA inclines her head and goes out.] [CHLOE, with a sort of moan, turns over and buries her face in the cushion.] CHLOE. [Sitting up] If I could see that man--if only--or Dawker---