(The term may not be happily chosen, but the person indicated is Lob
curled up on his chair by a dead fire. The last look on his face
before he fell asleep having been a leery one it is still there.)

PURDIE. He is asleep.

MABEL. Do you know him?

PURDIE. Not I. Excuse me, sir, Hi! (No shaking, however, wakens the
sleeper.)

MABEL. Darling, how extraordinary.

PURDIE (always considerate). After all, precious, have we any right to
wake up a stranger, just to tell him that we are runaways hiding in
his house?

MABEL (who comes of a good family). I think he would expect it of us.

PURDIE (after trying again). There is no budging him.

MABEL (appeased). At any rate, we have done the civil thing.

(She has now time to regard the room more attentively, including the
tray of coffee cups which MATEY had left on the table in a not
unimportant moment of his history.) There have evidently been people
here, but they haven't drunk their coffee. Ugh! cold as a deserted
egg in a bird's nest. Jack, if you were a clever detective you could
construct those people out of their neglected coffee cups. I wonder
who they are and what has spirited them away?