. . why . . . what . . . who . . . how is this?
PURDIE (nervously). He is coming to.
COADE (reeling and righting himself). Lob!
(The leg indicates that he has got it.)
Bless me, Coady, I went into that wood!
MRS. COADE. And without your muffler, you that are so subject to chills. What are you feeling for in your pocket?
COADE. The whistle. It is a whistle I--Gone! of course it is. It's rather a pity, but . . . (Anxious.) Have I been saying awful things to you?
MABEL. You have been making her so proud. It is a compliment to our whole sex. You had a second chance, and it is her, again!
COADE. Of course it is. (Crestfallen.) But I see I was just the same nice old lazy Coady as before; and I had thought that if I had a second chance, I could do things. I have often said to you, Coady, that it was owing to my being cursed with a competency that I didn't write my great book. But I had no competency this time, and I haven't written a word.
PURDIE (bitterly enough). That needn't make you feel lonely in this house.
MRS. COADE (in a small voice). You seem to have been quite happy as an old bachelor, dear.
COADE. I am surprised at myself, Emma, but I fear I was.
MRS. COADE (with melancholy perspicacity). I wonder if what it means is that you don't especially need even me. I wonder if it means that you are just the sort of amiable creature that would be happy anywhere, and anyhow?
COADE. Oh dear, can it be as bad as that!
JOANNA (a ministering angel she). Certainly not. It is a romance, and I won't have it looked upon as anything else.
MRS. COADE. Thank you, Joanna. You will try not to miss that whistle, Coady?
COADE (getting the footstool for her). You are all I need.
MRS. COADE. Yes; but I am not so sure as I used to be that it is a great compliment.
JOANNA. Coady, behave.
(There is a knock on the window.)
PURDIE (peeping). Mrs. Dearth! (His spirits revive.) She is alone. Who would have expected that of her?
MABEL. She is a wild one, Jack, but I sometimes thought rather a dear; I do hope she has got off cheaply.
(ALICE comes to them in her dinner gown.)
PURDIE (the irrepressible). Pleased to see you, stranger.
ALICE (prepared for ejection.) I was afraid such an unceremonious entry might startle you.
PURDIE. Not a bit.
ALICE (defiant). I usually enter a house by the front door.
PURDIE. I have heard that such is the swagger way.
ALICE (simpering). So stupid of me. I lost myself in the wood . . . and . . .
JOANNA (genially). Of course you did. But never mind that; do tell us your name.
LADY CAROLINE (emerging again). Yes, yes, your name.
ALICE. Of course, I am the Honourable Mrs. Finch-Fallowe.
LADY CAROLINE. Of course, of course!
PURDIE. I hope Mr. Finch-Fallowe is very well? We don't know him personally, but may we have the pleasure of seeing him bob up presently?
ALICE. No, I am not sure where he is.
LADY CAROLINE (with point). I wonder if the dear clever police know?
ALICE (imprudently). No, they don't.
(It is a very secondary matter to her. This woman of calamitous fires hears and sees her tormentors chiefly as the probable owner, of the cake which is standing on that tray.) So awkward, I gave my sandwiches to a poor girl and her father whom I met in the wood, and now . . . isn't it a nuisance--I am quite hungry. (So far with a mincing bravado.) May I?
(Without waiting for consent she falls to upon the cake, looking over it like one ready to fight them for it.)
PURDIE (sobered again). Poor soul.
LADY CAROLINE. We are so anxious to know whether you met a friend of ours in the wood--a Mr. Dearth. Perhaps you know him, too?
ALICE. Dearth? I don't know any Dearth.
MRS. COADE. Oh, dear what a wood!
LADY CAROLINE. He is quite a front door sort of man; knocks and rings, you know.
PURDIE. Don't worry her.
ALICE (gnawing). I meet so many; you see I go out a great deal. I have visiting-cards--printed ones.
LADY CAROLINE. How very distingue. Perhaps Mr. Dearth has painted