[_Satirically._] Or do you want me to tell them before your face that every word they’ve heard is true? Yes, I’ll see them. I’ll settle the whole thing. And then I shall be rid of this persecution. But I shall tell them the exact truth. GEORGE WINTER. [_Grimly humorous._] It’s not five o’clock yet. [_The_ BUTLER _comes in, followed by_ MR. PERIGAL. _This is the Prime Minister. He is a stoutish man of middle height, clean-shaven, with abundant grey hair worn long. His face is sensual, shrewd and bland; his manner is kindly and restrained._ THOMPSON. Mr. Perigal. [_Exit._ LADY FRANCIS. [_Cordially._] My dear Bob, this is kind of you. PERIGAL. How d’you do? Well, Kate? CATHERINE. You never come and see us now you’re Prime Minister. PERIGAL. It’s a delusion of the public that the Prime Minister has nothing to do but pay afternoon calls. [_He turns to_ GEORGE WINTER.] I’m very glad to see you here. GEORGE WINTER. On the best possible terms with my mother-in-law. LADY FRANCIS. Well, when are you going to dissolve Parliament? PERIGAL. [_Making himself comfortable in an arm-chair._] I’ve been so busy, I haven’t had time to read the papers for some days. What do they say about it? LADY FRANCIS. Don’t be irritating, Bob. PERIGAL. My dear, a wise Prime Minister looks upon it as a privilege to fulfil the intelligent anticipations of the press. LADY FRANCIS. I hope it’s not true that you’re going to give Emily Lascelles the Home Office? PERIGAL. Good heavens, you talk as if your sex were already comfortably installed in the House. LADY FRANCIS. You know perfectly what I mean. It doesn’t matter about the men, because all the work is done by the permanent officials. But their wives are quite another matter. I tell you frankly it will be a great mistake if Emily Lascelles goes to the Home Office. PERIGAL. Why? LADY FRANCIS. She can’t entertain. She doesn’t know a word of French. She dresses abominably. PERIGAL. [_Ironically._] That settles it. Emily Lascelles shall not go to the Home Office. GEORGE WINTER. [_With a smile._] That is how history is made. LADY FRANCIS. Oh, George, Frank bought a print of Napoleon the other day that he wants to show you. Do come up, will you? GEORGE WINTER. Of course. LADY FRANCIS. George collects things about Napoleon, you know. PERIGAL. Ah, the Napoleon of Finance.... I’m sorry to hear that Frank is laid up. LADY FRANCIS. Oh, he’s much better to-day. We shall only be five minutes. [_She goes out with_ GEORGE WINTER. PERIGAL. How naturally your mother did that! It almost took me in. CATHERINE. [_Gravely._] Have you come to see me by arrangement? PERIGAL. I’m up to my eyes in work! I’m afraid I could hardly find time for a chat in the middle of the afternoon without a rather special object. CATHERINE. I suppose not. PERIGAL. But your husband’s presence leads me to suppose that your common sense has made my errand unnecessary. CATHERINE.