sir, it is not. That lady is buried.

MRS. BEN DIXON.

Not yet, Ben. Don't you get anticipating history to that extent.

MR. BEN DIXON.

I mean, my dear, that she is sunk in Mrs. Ben Dixon.

MRS. BEN DIXON.

Yes, it is a bit of a come down. (Mr. Ben Dixon, crestfallen, retires to the fire.) Well, I am glad to see you. Why, you don't seem to have altered a day. Bless the man, you look quite young. (Cherry chuckles and plumes himself. She puts up her glass and examines him). Until one looks into you a bit. (He coughs drily). Well, and what have you been doing with yourself all these years?

ADAM CHERRY.

Oh, I gave up the stage, you know, when I came into my aunt's money.

MRS. BEN DIXON.

Um! Well, I think it was a good thing for both of you. You never were much good at it, you know, Adam.

ADAM CHERRY.

Ah, perhaps not—perhaps not.

MRS. BEN DIXON.

You never had the legs for it. It's no good saying——

ADAM CHERRY.

Legs are not everything.

MRS. BEN DIXON.

No, but they make a good foundation. Lord, I shall never forget the first night of that burlesque when you played Apollo to my Terps. You wore three pairs of tights, one over the other, and the underneath ones worked up into rucks. (Cherry laughs uncomfortably.) And the gallery told you to go home and get yourself ironed. (Laughs.)

MR. BEN DIXON.

(Aside to Theodore.) Now we shall have reminiscences of all your step-mother's early life.

THEODORE TRAVERS.

Ah, well, it might be worse, Ben. It might be your own.

ADAM CHERRY.

I heard of your second marriage.

MRS. BEN DIXON.

Ah, yes; bad news travels fast, they say.

ADAM CHERRY.

(Looking over at Ben Dixon.) But, you know, somehow or other, I pictured such a different sort of man.

MRS. BEN DIXON.

Yes, so did I. (Leaning over and speaking confidentially.) An inordinate craving for respectability has been the ruin of me. Don't you ever give way to it. (Cherry looks puzzled.) You see, Travers——

ADAM CHERRY.

Your first?

MRS. BEN DIXON.

My première. He was a bit wild, and when he died, poor man, and left me with a pot of money, I said to myself, "Now, Belinda Travers, nee Greggs, you've lived long enough in Bohemia. We'll just go in now for respectability; none of your mere Kensington or Hampstead sort, but the downright solid stuff." And so I just set to work to look for respectability, and (with a motion towards Ben Dixon) I found that! (Looks across at him. He is standing in a beautiful attitude, beaming, his hands folded together, talking to Nelly.) That's not a respectable man. That's potted respectability. They must have boiled down a church to make that. I never thought that there was so much respectability in the world. I'd never come across so much before, all at one time.

ADAM CHERRY.

And how do you like it?

MRS. BEN DIXON.

I don't like it. There's too much of it for me. I ought to have begun with small doses. My system can't stand it. I live in an atmosphere of respectability, and it's killing me. I never go anywhere that isn't respectable. I never do anything that isn't respectable. Until this blessed moment I haven't set eyes on anyone who isn't respectable.

ADAM CHERRY.

It must be very monotonous.

MRS. BEN DIXON.

Monotonous! It's suffocating! (Suddenly.) Cherry, you always were a good sort. You said you loved me once.

ADAM CHERRY.

(Alarmed) It was a long time ago, Belinda.

MRS. BEN DIXON.

I know it—fifteen years, if it's a day—but you can't have ceased to care for me altogether. Come and help me now. I'm going to the good man as fast as ever I can. For old love's sake come and hold me back a bit. Come down and spend a week with me. Come down and let me talk to you about the days when you and I and the rest of the crowd used to have sheep's-head suppers sent round from the local tripe-shop, and sit up till four o'clock in the morning, playing penny nap.

ADAM CHERRY.

Ah, they were jolly times, those, after all. Do you remember your first cigar?

MRS. BEN DIXON.

That's it—that's it! That's the sort of thing I want to remember. That's the sort of thing I want to talk to you about. Will you come?

ADAM CHERRY.

Why, of course I will. Shall enjoy it. Where are you, and when shall—— (Knock heard at door).

TED MORRIS.

(Who has been talking to Primrose.) Come in.

(Enter a waiter carrying a tray on which are two champagne bottles and some glasses.)

WAITER.

(At door.) Meester Sherry?

TED MORRIS.

Yes, he's here—but this is not his room.

ADAM CHERRY.

Oh, it's all right, my dear Ted. (To waiter.) Yes, yes, put them down. I'll explain—I'll explain.

WAITER.

(Putting down tray on table.) Shall I open zem, zir?

ADAM CHERRY.

Yes. And have you a few more glasses, Ted? I—I didn't know your friends would be here. They are all friends, aren't they?

TED MORRIS.

Some of them—the others are relations.

ADAM CHERRY.

Ah, yes, that will be all right then. All the better—all the better. Where's Nelly?

TED MORRIS.

Nelly? Oh——

MR. BEN DIXON.

Oh, she's just gone to fetch an atlas. I'm explaining a mission route to her. She'll be back in an instant.

ADAM CHERRY.

Ah! (Aside to Ted.) Has—has she told you anything?

TED MORRIS.

What about?

ADAM CHERRY.

(With a chuckle.) Ah, evidently not. Never mind, never mind. (Waves Ted away. Ted goes to cupboard to get glasses. The first cork goes "pop.")

JACK MEDBURY.

(Who has been talking to Theodore.) What's up? Another birthday?

TED MORRIS.

Mr. Cherry has a birthday about once a month, and we help him to celebrate it.

ADAM CHERRY.

No, no; now you are exaggerating, my dear boy. The last occasion was the anniversary of my poor aunt's death. (The second bottle pops.) You know I told you so.

JACK MED BURY.

We had a very jolly dinner over it.

(The waiter goes out.)

ADAM CHERRY.

But this—this, my dear Ted, is to celebrate something very much more important than—than anything we have celebrated before.

JACK MEDBURY.

More important than birth or death?

ADAM CHERRY.

Very much. Ladies and gentlemen, my dear friends, all of you, I want—I want you to drink to a—to a wedding.

MRS. BEN DIXON.

A wedding! What! Not your own?

ADAM CHERRY.

Why not, Bella? Why not?

TED MORRIS.

What, Cherry going to get married?

JACK MEDBURY.

Good luck to you, my boy. Good luck to you. Quite right. (He says this heartily and goes on laughing and talking to Theodore.)

MRS. BEN DIXON.

Who's the bride?

ADAM CHERRY.

The—the niece, Mrs. Ben Dixon, of a—of a most charming aunt. The sister of a brave, clever young friend of mine—the sweetest lady in the land—Miss Nelly Morris.

(Nelly has re-entered and stands L. near door. Jack gives a half-suppressed cry of "Nell!" and a start. No one notices this but Theodore, but he notices it very clearly.)

TED MORRIS.

Nelly! Is this true, Nelly?

NELLY MORRIS.

(She crosses and stands by Cherry. She is deadly pale and quiet.) Quite true. (As she says this she gives one look over to Jack and then turns away. Jack looks at her and the glass in his hand trembles. Theodore notices all these things. He looks from Jack to Nelly, then back to Jack. Then he covertly takes a pencil from his pocket, draws his