[They may go on speaking, but through the clang outside none could hear. The populace seems to be trying to take the committee room by assault. Out of the scrimmage a man emerges dishevelled and bursts into the room, closing the door behind him. It is JOHN SHAND in a five guinea suit, including the hat. There are other changes in him also, for he has been delving his way through loamy ground all those years. His right shoulder, which he used to raise to pound a path through the crowd, now remains permanently in that position. His mouth tends to close like a box. His eyes are tired, they need some one to pull the lids over them and send him to sleep for a week. But they are honest eyes still, and faithful, and could even light up his face at times with a smile, if the mouth would give a little help.] JOHN [clinging to a chair that he may not fly straight to heaven]. I’m in; I’m elected. Majority two hundred and forty-four; I’m John Shand, M.P. [The crowd have the news by this time and their roar breaks the door open. JAMES is off at once to tell them that he is to be SHAND’S brother-in-law. A teardrop clings to ALICK’s nose; DAVID hits out playfully at JOHN, and JOHN in an ecstasy returns the blow.] DAVID. Fling yourself at the door, father, and bar them out. Maggie, what keeps you so quiet now? MAGGIE [weak in her limbs]. You’re sure you’re in, John? JOHN. Majority 244. I’ve beaten the baronet. I’ve done it, Maggie, and not a soul to help me; I’ve done it alone. [His voice breaks; you could almost pick up the pieces.] I’m as hoarse as a crow, and I have to address the Cowcaddens Club yet; David, pump some oxygen into me. DAVID. Certainly, Mr. Shand. [While he does it, MAGGIE is seeing visions.] ALICK. What are you doing, Maggie? MAGGIE. This is the House of Commons, and I’m John, catching the Speaker’s eye for the first time. Do you see a queer little old wifie sitting away up there in the Ladies’ Gallery? That’s me. ‘Mr. Speaker, sir, I rise to make my historic maiden speech. I am no orator, sir’; voice from Ladies’ Gallery, ‘Are you not, John? you’ll soon let them see that’; cries of ‘Silence, woman,’ and general indignation. ‘Mr. Speaker, sir, I stand here diffidently with my eyes on the Treasury Bench’; voice from the Ladies’ Gallery, ‘And you’ll soon have your coat-tails on it, John’; loud cries of ‘Remove that little old wifie,’ in which she is forcibly ejected, and the honourable gentleman resumes his seat in a torrent of admiring applause. [ALICK and DAVID waggle their proud heads.] JOHN [tolerantly]. Maggie, Maggie. MAGGIE. You’re not angry with me, John? JOHN. No, no. MAGGIE. But you glowered. JOHN. I was thinking of Sir Peregrine. Just because I beat him at the poll he took a shabby revenge; he congratulated me in French, a language I haven’t taken the trouble to master. MAGGIE [becoming a little taller]. Would it help you, John, if you were to marry a woman that could speak French? DAVID [quickly]. Not at all.