could.

MANSON. And so . . .

MARY. Well, that's as far as I've got.

[ROGERS re-enters.]

MANSON. Yes, what is it, Rogers?

ROGERS. Cook's compliments, Mr. Manson, and might she make so bold
as to request your presence in the kitchen, seein' as she's 'ad no
orders for lunch yet. O' course, she says, it will do when you've
_quite_ finished any private business you may 'av' in the upper
part of the 'ouse!

[He delivers this with distinct hauteur. MANSON, smiling, goes up
to him and takes his head in his hands.]

MANSON. Why do you dislike me so, Rogers?

ROGERS [taken aback]. Me? Me dislike you, Mr. Manson? _Oh no_!

MANSON. Come along, little comrade.

[They go out like brothers, MANSON'S arm round the lad's shoulders.]

[MARY is left seated on the table, chuckling at the situation.
Suddenly her face becomes serious again: she is lost in thought.
After a while she speaks softly to herself.]