JACK. Kick me if you like, darling. It’s my fault entirely. (_Looking at his watch_) Send the car at once, Benham. It will probably be too late, but it can bring the luggage along. BENHAM. Yes, sir. Rogers informs me that he only requires the level five minutes when meeting trains—unhampered, as you might say. JACK (_to IRIS_). I’m afraid she’ll walk through the woods, you know. (_To BENHAM_) We’ll have tea in here. BENHAM. Yes, sir. [_Exit BENHAM._ IRIS. Jack, you _have_ been bad. JACK. After all, darling, it’s only a mile by the short way, and it’s a jolly afternoon. There won’t be anything about it in the papers. IRIS (_shaking her head at him_). Oh, Jack! (_She sits on the arm of his chair_) Jack, don’t you think it’s time we had a house of our own? This has been very jolly for a few months, but—you _do_ want to get started on your work, don’t you? JACK. Of course I do, sweetheart. Only, we can’t begin till we get the studio, can we? IRIS. London’s full of studios, lazy one. JACK. Yes, but you don’t realise how important it is to an artist to get the exact surroundings. Now that we’ve found _the_ studio in _all_ London, and the man who’s in it happens to be leaving in six months, it’s absurd to go looking about for another. It’s simply a question of waiting. IRIS. Six months? JACK. Well, if we’re lucky, he might die suddenly.... You should read your Bible more. Moses, or somebody, said that no husband ought to do any work for a year after he’s married. I quite agree with him. (_Playing with her hair_) Did I ever tell you that I much prefer your hair to the stuff you see hanging in shop windows in Bond Street? IRIS (_softly_). Do you? JACK. It’s all fastened on quite naturally, isn’t it? IRIS. I think it must be. JACK. Wonderful hair.... Did I ever tell you that I like your eyes much better than the ones you see lying about in fishmongers’ shops next to the ice? IRIS (_smiling_). Do you? JACK. They’ve got so much more expression.... Did I ever tell you—— Hullo, here’s tea. (_BENHAM comes in_) Has the car gone, Benham? BENHAM. Yes, sir. JACK. Good. Let’s hope the train’s late. BENHAM (_arranging the tea_). I’m afraid it is not very likely, sir. I remember His Grace once commenting on the curious fact that, whenever one particularly wished a train to be late, it was invariably punctual. JACK. His Grace seems to have been a highly original thinker. BENHAM. Yes, sir, he was very well tolerated in the family. JACK. Well, this must seem rather a holiday for you after the intellectual life at the Castle. You must make the most of it, Benham. BENHAM. Thank you, sir. IRIS. Is Mr. Chillingham back yet? BENHAM. Yes, madam. He will be down directly. Sir Roger is engaged in the morning-room, madam, with the financial papers, and will not require tea. IRIS. Thank you. BENHAM. Thank you, madam. [_He goes out._