_G.J._ War? Then I am a pauper. [_He does not say how, but presumably
he knows best._

_M.B._ (_ceasing to go_). My day has dawned _now_.

_G.J._ How so?

_M.B._ Your conscience calls you, does it not, to enlist? (George _nods._)
I have no conscience. While you fight I shall continue to press my suit.

_G.J._ (_despairingly to himself_). Alas! what chance will that sweet girl
have against his dark saturnine beauty and his wealth? (_Aloud, hopefully,
as a thought strikes him_) But stay--war with Germany--perhaps you are a
pauper also?

_M.B._ Not I, indeed. I am a maker of munitions. A-ha! [_Twirls his
moustache._

_G.J._ (_losing his temper_). Cur! [_Exit, to enlist, into cupboard.
Before he has time to realise his mistake the curtain falls._

ACT II.

_Hyde Park, August, 1915._

_A dozen energetic supers, by being extremely glad to see one another
very many times, are creating the illusion of a gay and fashionable
throng. Enter_ Marmaduke Beltravers _with_ Mary. _She is distraite._