BURNEY. Thank you, sir. [She withdraws.]

GEORGE. Damn!

He again goes to the curtained door, and passes through.
PAYNTER, coming in from the hall, announces: "General Sir
Charles and Lady Dedmond." SIR CHARLES is an upright,
well-groomed, grey-moustached, red-faced man of sixty-seven, with
a keen eye for molehills, and none at all for mountains. LADY
DEDMOND has a firm, thin face, full of capability and decision,
not without kindliness; and faintly weathered, as if she had
faced many situations in many parts of the world. She is fifty
five.

PAYNTER withdraws.

SIR CHARLES. Hullo! Where are they? H'm!

As he speaks, GEORGE re-enters.

LADY DEDMOND. [Kissing her son] Well, George. Where's Clare?

GEORGE. Afraid she's late.

LADY DEDMOND. Are we early?

GEORGE. As a matter of fact, she's not in.

LADY DEDMOND. Oh?