ANNE (_suddenly_). Do you know who we are? DOMINIC. I have not that pleasure, my lady. ANNE. Then why do you call me “my lady”? LEONARD (_disliking a scene_). My dear! ANNE (_waving back LEONARD’S protesting arm_). No, Leonard. (_To DOMINIC_) Well? DOMINIC. His lordship mentioned that your ladyship was his wife. ANNE. Y—yes.... Then you know _him_ by sight? LEONARD (_complacently_). Well, my dear, that need not surprise you. DOMINIC. I know his lordship’s rank, my lady. Not his lordship’s name. LEONARD (_surprised_). My rank? How the devil—— DOMINIC. Supper will be served in five minutes, my lady. (_He bows and goes out._) (_There is silence for a little. They look at the table, at the room, at each other. Then LEONARD says it aloud._) LEONARD. Dashed rummy sort of hotel! ANNE (_coming closer and holding his arm_). Leonard, I don’t like it. LEONARD. Pooh! Nonsense, dear. ANNE. It almost seems as though they had expected us. LEONARD (_laughing_). My dear child, how could they? In the ordinary way we should have been at Dover—why, almost at Calais by this time. ANNE. I know. (_In distress_) Why aren’t we? LEONARD. The car—Saunders, a fool of a chauffeur—a series of unfortunate accidents—— ANNE. Do you often have these unfortunate accidents, Leonard? LEONARD. My dear Anne, you aren’t suggesting that I’ve done this on purpose! ANNE. No, no. (_She leaves him, and goes and sits down._) But why to-night of all nights? LEONARD. Of course, it’s damned annoying missing the boat, but we can get it to-morrow morning. We shall be in Paris to-morrow night. ANNE. To-morrow night—but that makes such a difference. I hate every hour we spend together like this in England. LEONARD. Well, really, I don’t see why—— ANNE. You must take it that I do, Leonard. I told you from the first that it was run-away or nothing with me; there was going to be no intrigue, no lies and pretences and evasions. And somehow it seems less—less sordid, if we begin our new life together in a new country. (_With a little smile_) Perhaps the French for what we are doing is not quite so crude as the English.... Yes, I know it’s absurd of me, but there it is. LEONARD (_with a shrug_). Oh, well! (_Taking out his case_) Do you mind a cigarette? ANNE (_violently_). Oh, why do men _always_ want to smoke, even up to the moment when they’re going to eat? Can’t you breathe naturally for five minutes? LEONARD (_sulkily, putting his case back_). I beg your pardon. ANNE. No, I beg yours. LEONARD. You’re all to bits. ANNE. Nerves, I suppose. LEONARD. Nonsense! My Anne with nerves? (_Bitterly_) Now if it had been Eustasia—— ANNE (_coldly_). Really, Leonard, I think we had better leave your wife out of the conversation. LEONARD. I beg your pardon. ANNE (_to herself_). Perhaps you’re right. In a crisis we are all alike, we women.