TRANTO. Good heavens! There was nothing on the tape when I left the Club. CULVER. Oh! I don't mean your war. I mean the twenty-two years' war. TRANTO. The twenty-two years' war? CULVER. My married life. Over! Finished! Napoo! TRANTO. Do you know what you're saying? CULVER. Look here, Tranto. You and I don't belong to the same generation. In fact, if I'd started early enough I might have been your father. But we got so damned intimate last night, and I'm in such a damned hole, and you're so damned wise, that I feel I must talk to you. Not that it'll be any use. TRANTO. But what's the matter? CULVER. The matter is--keeping a woman in the house. TRANTO. Mr. Culver! You don't mean-- CULVER. I mean my wife--of course. I've just had the most ghastly rumpus with my wife. It was divided into two acts. The first took place here, the second in the boudoir (_indicating boudoir_). The second act was the shortest but the worst. TRANTO. But what was it all about? CULVER. Now for heaven's sake don't ask silly questions. You know perfectly well what it was about. It was about the baronetcy. I have decided to refuse that baronetcy, and my wife has refused to let me refuse it. TRANTO. But what are her arguments? CULVER. I've implored you once not to ask silly questions. 'What are her arguments' indeed! She hasn't got any arguments. You know that. You're too wise not to know it. She merely wants the title, that's all. TRANTO. And how did the second act end? CULVER. I don't quite remember. TRANTO. Let me suggest that you sit down. (Culver _sits_.) Thanks. Now I've always gathered from my personal observation, that you, if I may say so, are the top dog here when it comes to the point--the crowned head, as it were. CULVER. Uneasy lies the head that wears a crown. At least, it did last night, and I shall be greatly surprised if it doesn't to-night. TRANTO. Naturally. A crown isn't a night-cap. But you are the top dog. In the last resort, what you say, goes. That is so, isn't it? I only want to be clear. CULVER. Yes, I think that's pretty right. TRANTO. Well, you have decided on public grounds, and as a question of principle, to refuse the title. You intend to refuse it. CULVER. I--I do. TRANTO. Nobody can stop you from refusing it. CULVER. Nobody. TRANTO. Mrs. Culver can't stop you from refusing it? CULVER. Certainly not. It concerns me alone. TRANTO. Well, then, where is the difficulty? A rumpus--I think you said. What of that? My dear Mr. Culver, believe me, I have seen far more of marriage than you have. You're only a married man. I'm a bachelor, and I've assisted at scores of married lives. A rumpus is nothing. It passes--and leaves the victor more firmly established than ever before.