LEONARD (_going over to her_). No, damn it, I won’t have that. It’s—it’s blasphemy. Anne, my darling——(_She stands up and he takes her hands._) ANNE. Oh!... I _am_ different, aren’t I? LEONARD. Darling! ANNE. I’m not a bit like—like anybody else, am I, not even when I’m cross? LEONARD. Darling! ANNE. And you do love me? LEONARD. Darling! (_He wants to kiss her, but she stops him._) ANNE. No. Now you’re going to smoke. (_She settles him in his chair, takes a cigarette from his case, and puts it in his mouth_) I’ll light it for you. Matches? (_She holds out her hand for them._) DOMINIC (_who has a way of being there when wanted_). Matches, my lady. (_He hands them to her. They are both rather confused._) ANNE. Thank you. LEONARD (_annoyed_). Thanks. (_He gets up, takes the matches from ANNE, and lights his cigarette. DOMINIC gives a professional touch to the table and goes out._) Damn that fellow! ANNE (_smiling_). After all, darling, he thinks I’m your wife.... Or don’t wives light their husband’s cigarettes? LEONARD. I believe you’re right, Anne. There’s something odd about this place. ANNE. So _you_ feel it now? LEONARD. What did he mean by saying he knew my rank, but not my name? ANNE (_lightly_). Perhaps he looked inside your cap—like Sherlock Holmes—and saw the embroidered coronet. LEONARD. How do you mean? There’s nothing inside my cap. ANNE. No, darling. That was a joke. (_He nods tolerantly._) LEONARD. And the table laid. Only one table. ANNE. Yes, but it’s for three. They didn’t expect _us_. LEONARD (_relieved_). So it is.... It’s probably a new idea in hotels—some new stunt of Harrods—or what’s the fellow’s name?—Lyons. A country-house hotel. By the way, what will you drink? DOMINIC (_there as usual_). Bollinger 1906, my lord. (_He has startled them again._) Mr. Latimer will be down in two minutes, my lady. He asks you to forgive him for not being here to receive you. LEONARD. Mr. Latimer? Who on earth’s Mr. Latimer? DOMINIC. If you would wish to be shown your room, my lady—— ANNE (_who has not taken her eyes off him_). No, thank you. LEONARD (_stepping forward_). Look here, my man, is this an hotel or have we come to a private house by mistake? DOMINIC. A sort of hotel, my lord. I assure your lordship there is no mistake. Thank you, my lady. [_He goes out._ ANNE (_laughing half-hysterically as she sits down_). Very original man, Harrod. Or is it Lyons? LEONARD. Look here, I’m going to get to the bottom of this. (_He starts after DOMINIC._) ANNE. Why bother? Mr. Latimer will be here in two minutes. LEONARD (_turning back_). Yes, but who the devil’s Mr. Latimer?