HILDEGARDE. Write! I only began to write as a relief from mamma. I escaped secretly into articles like escaping into an underground passage. But as for facing mamma in the open!... Even father scarcely ever does that; and when he does, we hold our breath, and the cook turns teetotal. It wouldn't be the slightest use me trying to explain the situation logically to mamma. She wouldn't understand. She's far too clever to understand anything she doesn't like. Perhaps that's the secret of her power. No, if the truth about Sampson Straight is to come out I must leave home--quietly but firmly leave home. And why not? I can keep myself in splendour on Sampson's earnings. And the break is bound to come sooner or later. I admit I didn't begin very seriously, but reading my own articles has gradually made me serious. I feel I have a cause. A cause may be inconvenient, but it's magnificent. It's like champagne or high heels, and one must be prepared to suffer for it. TRANTO. Cause be hanged! Suffer be hanged! High heels be hanged! Champagne--(_stops_). Miss Culver, if a disclosure means your leaving home I won't agree to any disclosure whatever. I will--not--agree. We'll sit tight on the volcano. HILDEGARDE. But why won't you agree? TRANTO (_excited_). Why won't I agree! Why won't I agree! Because I don't want you to leave home. I know you're a born genius--a marvel, a miracle, a prodigy, an incredible orchid, the most brilliant journalist in London. I'm fully aware of all that. But I do not and will not see you as a literary bachelor living with a cause and holding receptions of serious people in chambers furnished by Roger Fry. I like to think of you at home, here, in this charming atmosphere, amid the delightful vicissitudes of family existence, and--well, I like to think of you as a woman. HILDEGARDE (_calmly and teasingly_). Mr. Tranto, we are forgetting one thing. TRANTO. What's that? HILDEGARDE. You're an editor, and I'm a contributor whom you've never met. _Enter_ Mrs. Culver (_L_). MRS. CULVER. Mr. Tranto, how are you? (_Shaking hands_.) I'm delighted to see you. So sorry I didn't warn you we dine half an hour later--thanks to the scandalous way the Government slave-drives my poor husband. Please do excuse me. (_She sits_). TRANTO. On the contrary, it's I who should ask to be excused--proposing myself like this at the last moment. MRS. CULVER. It was very nice of you to think of us. Come and sit down here. (_Indicating a place by her side on the sofa_.) Now in my poor addled brain I had an idea you were engaged for to-night at your aunt's, Lady Blackfriars'. TRANTO (_sitting_). Mrs. Culver, you forget nothing. I _was_ engaged for Auntie Joe's, but she's ill and she's put me off. MRS. CULVER. Dear me! How very sudden! TRANTO. Sudden? MRS. CULVER. I met Lady Blackfriars at tea late this afternoon and it struck me how well she was looking.