JOHN. I thought I wouldn't say anything till he'd actually arrived. He mightn't have come at all. Then what a fool I should have looked if I'd told you he _was_ coming! Tranto himself doesn't know him. Tranto pooh-poohed the idea of me ever meeting him, Tranto did. Well, I've met him, and he's here. I haven't let on to him that I know Tranto. I'm going to bring them together and watch them both having the surprise of their lives. CULVER. John, this is a great score for you. I admit I've never been more interested in meeting anyone. Never! _Enter_ Parlourmaid, _back_. PARLOURMAID. Miss Starkey, sir. CULVER (_cheerfully_). I'll see her soon. (_Pulling himself up suddenly; in an alarmed, gloomy tone_.) No, no! I can't possibly see her. PARLOURMAID. Miss Starkey says there are several important letters, sir. CULVER. No, no! I'm not equal to it. HILDEGARDE (_confidentially_). What's wrong, dad? CULVER (_to_ Hildegarde). She'll give me notice the minute she knows she can't call me Sir Arthur. (_Shudders_.) I quail. _Enter_ Mrs. Culver _and_ Sampson Straight, _back_. (_The_ Parlourmaid _holds the door for them, and then exit_.) MRS. CULVER. This is my husband. Arthur, dear--Mr. Sampson Straight. And this is my little daughter. (Hilda _bows_, John _surveys the scene with satisfaction_.) CULVER (_recovering his equipoise; shaking hands heartily_). Mr. Straight. Delighted to meet you. I simply cannot tell you how unexpected this pleasure is. STRAIGHT. You're too kind. CULVER (_gaily_). I doubt it. I doubt it. STRAIGHT. I ought to apologise for coming in like this. But I've been so charmingly received by Mrs. Culver-- MRS. CULVER. You've been so charming about my boy, Mr. Straight. STRAIGHT. I was so very greatly impressed by your son this morning at the Club that I couldn't resist the opportunity he gave me of visiting his home. What I say is: like parents, like child. I'm an old-fashioned man. MRS. CULVER. No one would guess that from your articles in _The Echo_. Of course they're frightfully clever, but you know I don't quite agree with all your opinions. STRAIGHT. Neither do I. You see--there's always a difference between what one thinks and what one has to write. MRS. CULVER. I'm so glad. (Culver _starts and looks round_.) What is it, Arthur? CULVER. Nothing! I thought I heard the ice cracking. (Hildegarde _begins to smile_.) STRAIGHT (_looking at the floor; simply_). Ice? MRS. CULVER. Arthur! STRAIGHT. It was still thawing when I came in. As I was saying, I'm an old-fashioned man. And I'm a provincial--and proud of it. MRS. CULVER. But my dear Mr. Straight, really, if you'll excuse me, you look as if you never left the pavement of Piccadilly. CULVER. Say the windows of the Turf club, darling. STRAIGHT (_serenely_). No. I live very, very quietly on my little place, and when I feel the need of contact with the great world I run over for the afternoon to--St. Ives.