[He softly turns the handle of the dining-room door, and realises that his scent is not so good as he had thought it. He bids his hostess and the COMTESSE good-bye in a burlesque whisper and tiptoes off to safer places. JOHN having gone out with him, MAGGIE can no longer avoid the COMTESSE’s reproachful eye. That much injured lady advances upon her with accusing finger.] COMTESSE. So, madam! [MAGGIE is prepared for her.] MAGGIE. I don’t know what you mean. COMTESSE. Yes, you do. I mean that there IS some one who ‘helps’ our Mr. Shand. MAGGIE. There’s not. COMTESSE. And it IS a woman, and it’s you. MAGGIE. I help in the little things. COMTESSE. The little things! You are the Pin he picked up and that is to make his fortune. And now what I want to know is whether your John is aware that you help at all. [JOHN returns, and at once provides the answer.] JOHN. Maggie, Comtesse, I’ve done it again! MAGGIE. I’m so glad, John. [The COMTESSE is in an ecstasy.] COMTESSE. And all because you were not to hedge, Mr. Shand. [His appeal to her with the wistfulness of a schoolboy makes him rather attractive.] JOHN. You won’t tell on me, Comtesse! [He thinks it out.] They had just guessed I would be firm because they know I’m a strong man. You little saw, Maggie, what a good turn you were doing me when you said you wanted to make another copy of the speech. [She is dense.] MAGGIE. How, John? JOHN. Because now I can alter the end. [She is enlightened.] MAGGIE. So you can! JOHN. Here’s another lucky thing, Maggie: I hadn’t told the ladies’ committee that I was to hedge, and so they need never know. Comtesse, I tell you there’s a little cherub who sits up aloft and looks after the career of John Shand. [The COMTESSE looks not aloft but toward the chair at present occupied by MAGGIE.] COMTESSE. Where does she sit, Mr. Shand? [He knows that women are not well read.] JOHN. It’s just a figure of speech. [He returns airily to his committee room; and now again you may hear the click of MAGGIE’s needles. They no longer annoy the COMTESSE; she is setting them to music.] COMTESSE. It is not down here she sits, Mrs. Shand, knitting a stocking. MAGGIE. No, it isn’t. COMTESSE. And when I came in I gave him credit for everything; even for the prettiness of the room! MAGGIE. He has beautiful taste. COMTESSE. Good-bye, Scotchy. MAGGIE. Good-bye, Comtesse, and thank you for coming. COMTESSE. Good-bye--Miss Pin. [MAGGIE rings genteelly.] MAGGIE. Good-bye. [The COMTESSE is now lost in admiration of her.] COMTESSE. You divine little wife. He can’t be worthy of it, no man could be worthy of it. Why do you do it? [MAGGIE shivers a little.] MAGGIE. He loves to think he does it all himself; that’s the way of men. I’m six years older than he is. I’m plain, and I have no charm. I shouldn’t have let him marry me. I’m trying to make up for it. [The COMTESSE kisses her and goes away. MAGGIE, somewhat foolishly, resumes her knitting.]