CLARE. Would you say--a lady.

MRS. MILER. It's against the rules. But if you'll sit down a moment
I'll see what I can do. [She brings forward a chair and rubs it with
her apron. Then goes to the door of the inner room and speaks
through it] A lady to see you. [Returning she removes some
cigarette ends] This is my hour. I shan't make much dust. [Noting
CLARE's eyebrows raised at the debris round the armchair] I'm
particular about not disturbin' things.

CLARE. I'm sure you are.

MRS. MILER. He likes 'is 'abits regular.

Making a perfunctory pass with the Bissell broom, she runs it to
the cupboard, comes back to the table, takes up a bottle and
holds it to the light; finding it empty, she turns it upside
down and drops it into the wastepaper basket; then, holding up
the other bottle, and finding it not empty, she corks it and
drops it into the fold of her skirt.

MRS. MILER. He takes his claret fresh-opened--not like these 'ere
bawgwars.

CLARE. [Rising] I think I'll come back later.

MRS. MILER. Mr. Malise is not in my confidence. We keep each other
to ourselves. Perhaps you'd like to read the paper; he has it fresh
every mornin'--the Westminister.