only proposed to-day.

BETTY. [Flinging herself back in her chair, and opening wide eyes.]
You—proposed—to-day!

WALTER. [Very embarrassed.] Yes—I mean—

BETTY. You—proposed—to-day! And waited till she had accepted you—to tell me—

WALTER. [Eagerly.] Don't be so silly—come, come, he'll be back in a minute…. And, believe me, I'm not worth making a fuss about!

BETTY. [Looking contemptuously at him.] That's true.

WALTER. Yes, it is, worse luck! I deserve all you've said to me. And you'll be … much better … without me.

BETTY. Better?

WALTER. Yes, better, better—any way you choose to put it! I'm a—but never mind that!—Look here—you'd like me to stop?

BETTY. He wants to play bridge.

WALTER. Don't you think that I—

BETTY.[Hearing HECTOR coming.] Sh.

[HECTOR comes in—she is idly tossing the cards about. HECTOR has put on a smoking-jacket—he comes in, very jolly, fussing around, rubbing his hands, so glad to be home. He sits, to the right of BETTY.

HECTOR. Now for a game!

[He seizes a pack, and spreads out the cards.

BETTY. [Leaning back.] Not sure that I want to play.

HECTOR. Don't be disagreeable, Betty! Why?

BETTY. [Listlessly, as she rises and moves across the room.] No fun, being three.

HECTOR. Good practice for you. Come on.

BETTY. [Leaning against the other table, and turning and facing them.]
Besides, he has something to tell you.

HECTOR. Walter?

BETTY. Yes.

HECTOR. [Looking inquiringly at WALTER.] To tell me? What is it?

BETTY. That he's engaged.

HECTOR. [Shouting, as he leans across the table.] Never! Walter!
Engaged? You?

WALTER. [Nervously.] Yes.

HECTOR. [Noisily and affectionately.] You old scoundrel! You rascal and villain! Engaged—and you don't come and tell me first! Well I—am—damned!

WALTER. [Trying to take it gaily.] I knew you'd chaff me about it.

HECTOR. Chaff you! Silly old coon! why I'm glad! Of course we shall miss you—but marriage—it's the only thing, my boy—the only thing! Who is she? Do I know her?

WALTER. [Mumbling, as he fingers the cards.] A friend of Betty's—I fancy you've met her—

HECTOR. Who?

BETTY. Mary Gillingham. We're the first to know—he only proposed to-day.

HECTOR. Gillingham, Gillingham…. Oh yes, I've seen her, just seen her, but I don't remember…. I say, not the daughter of the sealing-wax man?

WALTER. Yes.

HECTOR. Then there's lots of tin! Fine! Oh you artful old dodger! Is she pretty?

WALTER. So-So.

BETTY. [Still leaning against the table, and looking at them both.]
She's excessively pretty. She has yellow hair and blue eyes.

HECTOR. [Chuckling.] And she has caught old Wallie. The cynical old
Wallie who sniffed at women! Though perhaps it's the money—

BETTY. No. He's in love with her.

HECTOR. That's good. I'm glad. And I congratulate you—heartily, my boy. [He seizes WALTER'S hand, and wrings it.] We must drink to it! [He gets up, goes to the side-table, and pours some whiskey into a tumbler.] Charge your glass, Walter! [WALTER rises and goes to the side-table.] Ladies and gentlemen. I give you the bride and bridegroom! [He fills the glass from the syphon and passes it to WALTER, then proceeds to fill his own.] Betty, you must join us.

BETTY. [Quietly.] No.

HECTOR. You can't toast him in water, of course. Has she cleared away yet?
I'll get you some Hock.

[He puts his glass down and moves to the door at back.

BETTY. Don't be so silly. I won't drink at all.

HECTOR. [Amazed.] Not to old Walter?

BETTY. [Steadily.] No.

HECTOR. Why?

BETTY. [Almost jeeringly.] Because—old Walter—has been my lover.

HECTOR. [Stopping, and staring at her.] What?

BETTY. [Calmly, looking full at him.] My lover … these last two years.

HECTOR. [Staring stupidly at her.] He has been—

BETTY. [Impatiently, as she taps the floor with her foot.] Yes, yes. How often must I tell you? My lover—don't you know what that means? Why do you stare at me with those fat goggle-eyes of yours? He has been my lover—and now he has fallen in love with this girl and means to marry her. That's all.

HECTOR. [Turning towards WALTER, who hasn't stirred from the side-table.] What? You?

[WALTER remains motionless and silent.

HECTOR. [In muffled tones, scarcely able to speak.] You! It's true what this woman says?

BETTY. [Contemptuously.] This woman! Don't be so melodramatic! Have you forgotten my name?

HECTOR. [Turning fiercely to her, roaring madly.] Silence, Jezebel! [She shrinks back, in alarm, towards the fire.] Your name! Wait a bit, I'll tell you! [He takes a step towards her—she crouches in terror against the wall.] You shall hear what your name is! Just now I'm dealing with him. [He swings round to WALTER.] You there, you skunk and thief! You, you lying hound! I was your best friend. So you've taken my wife, have you? And now mean to go off and marry this girl. That's it? Oh, it's so simple! Here—come here—sit down. Sit down, I tell you. Here, in this chair. Shall I have to drag you to it? I want to keep my hands off you. Here. [WALTER has moved slowly towards him. HECTOR has banged down a chair behind the centre table, WALTER sits in it—HECTOR speaks over his shoulder to BETTY.] And you—fetch pen and ink and paper—

BETTY. [In abject panic.] Hector—

HECTOR. [Turning fiercely and scowling at her.] If you speak to me I'll brain you too. Just you go in there and fetch the things. D'you hear? Go. [She moves into the other room. HECTOR swings round to WALTER.] As for you, you're a scoundrel. A rogue, a thief, a liar, a traitor. Of the very worst kind, the blackest. Not an ordinary case of a husband and wife—I trusted you—you were my best friend. You spawn, you thing of the gutter, you foul-hearted, damnable slug!

[BETTY comes back, dragging her feet, carrying paper and envelopes and a stylograph—she puts them on the table.

HECTOR. Not that stylograph—that's mine—his dirty hands shan't touch it—I could never use it again. Fetch your pen—yours—you belong to him, don't you? Go in and fetch it. D'you hear?

[BETTY goes into the inner room again.

HECTOR. My wife. And you the man I've done more for than for any one else in the world. The man I cared for, you low dog. Used my house—came here because it was dull at the Club—and took my wife? I don't know why I don't kill you.