CRAVEN (making a note). 90, you say. After twelve. (He suddenly
relapses into gloom.) By the bye, don't order anything special for me.
I'm not allowed wine--only Apollinaris. No meat either--only a scrap
of fish occasionally. I'm to have a short life, but not a merry one.
(Sighing.) Well, well. (Bracing himself up.) Now, Julia, it's time for
us to be off. (Julia rises.)

CUTHBERTSON. But where on earth is Grace? I must go and look for her.
(He turns to the door.)

JULIA (stopping him). Oh, pray don't disturb her, Mr. Cuthbertson.
She's so tired.

CUTHBERTSON. But just for a moment to say good night. (Julia and
Charteris look at one another in dismay. Cuthbertson looks quickly at
them, perceiving that something is wrong.)

CHARTERIS. We must make a clean breast of it, I see.

CUTHBERTSON. Clean breast?

CHARTERIS. The truth is, Cuthbertson, Mrs. Tranfield, who is, as you
know, the most thoughtful of women, took it into her head that
I--well, that I particularly wanted to speak to Miss Craven alone. So
she said she was tired and wanted to go to bed.

CRAVEN (scandalized). Tut! tut!

CUTHBERTSON. Oho! is that it? Then it's all right. She never goes to