EDWARD. [_with a little laugh._] And I don't believe in Heaven either. ALICE. [_close to him._] But there's to be our life. What's wrong with that? EDWARD. My dear, when they put me in prison for swindling--[_he makes the word sound its worst._] ALICE. I think they won't. But if they are so stupid . . I must be very careful. EDWARD. Of what? ALICE. To avoid false pride. I shall be foolishly proud of you. EDWARD. It's good to be praised sometimes . . by you. ALICE. My heart praises you. Good night. EDWARD. Good night. _She kisses his forehead. But he puts up his face like a child, so she bends down and for the first time their lips meet. Then she steps back from him, adding happily, with perhaps just a touch of shyness._ ALICE. Till to-morrow. EDWARD. [_echoing in gratitude the hope and promise in her voice._] Till to-morrow. _She leaves him to sit there by the table for a few moments longer, looking into his future, streaked as it is to be with trouble and joy. As whose is not? From above . . from above the mantelpiece, that is to say . . the face of the late_ MR. VOYSEY _seems to look down upon his son not unkindly, though with that curious buccaneering twist of the eyebrows which distinguished his countenance in life_. Waste 1906-7 WASTE At Shapters, GEORGE FARRANT'S house in Hertfordshire. Ten o'clock on a Sunday evening in summer. _Facing you at her piano by the window, from which she is protected by a little screen, sits_ MRS. FARRANT; _a woman of the interesting age, clear-eyed and all her face serene, except for a little pucker of the brows which shows a puzzled mind upon some important matters. To become almost an ideal hostess has been her achievement; and in her own home, as now, this grace is written upon every movement. Her eyes pass over the head of a girl, sitting in a low chair by a little table, with the shaded lamplight falling on her face. This is_ LUCY DAVENPORT; _twenty-three, undefeated in anything as yet and so unsoftened. The book on her lap is closed, for she has been listening to the music. It is possibly some German philosopher, whom she reads with a critical appreciation of his shortcomings. On the sofa near her lounges_ MRS. O'CONNELL; _a charming woman, if by charming you understand a woman who converts every quality she possesses into a means of attraction, and has no use for any others. On the sofa opposite sits_ MISS TREBELL. _In a few years, when her hair is quite grey, she will assume as by right the dignity of an old maid. Between these two in a low armchair is_ LADY DAVENPORT. _She has attained to many dignities. Mother and grandmother, she has brought into the world and nourished not merely life but character. A wonderful face she has, full of proud memories and fearless of the future. Behind her, on a sofa between the windows, is_ WALTER KENT.