Oh, how infamous! how abominable!
How disgracefully you have all been talking about me!
If my husband knew it he would never let me speak to any of you again. [To Ramsden] I think you might have spared me, at least.
RAMSDEN.
But I assure you I never—at least it is a monstrous perversion of something I said that—
MISS RAMSDEN.
You needn't apologize, Roebuck.
She brought it all on herself.
It is for her to apologize for having deceived us.
VIOLET.
I can make allowances for you, Miss Ramsden: you cannot understand how I feel on this subject though I should have expected rather better taste from people of greater experience.
However, I quite feel that you have all placed yourselves in a very painful position; and the most truly considerate thing for me to do is to go at once.
Good morning. She goes, leaving them staring.
Miss RAMSDEN.
Well, I must say—!
RAMSDEN. [plaintively] I don't think she is quite fair to us.
TANNER.
You must cower before the wedding ring like the rest of us, Ramsden.
The cup of our ignominy is full.
ACT II
On the carriage drive in the park of a country house near Richmond a motor car has broken down.
It stands in front of a clump of trees round which the drive sweeps to the house, which is partly visible through them: indeed Tanner, standing in the drive with the car on his right hand, could get an unobstructed view of the west corner of the house on his left were he not far too much interested in a pair of supine legs in blue serge trousers which protrude from beneath the machine.
He is watching them intently with bent back and hands supported on his knees.
His leathern overcoat and peaked cap proclaim him one of the dismounted passengers.
THE LEGS.
Aha!
I got him.
TANNER.
All right now?
THE LEGS.
All right now.
Tanner stoops and takes the legs by the ankles, drawing their owner forth like a wheelbarrow, walking on his hands, with a hammer in his mouth.
He is a young man in a neat suit of blue serge, clean shaven, dark eyed, square fingered, with short well brushed black hair and rather irregular sceptically turned eyebrows.
When he is manipulating the car his movements are swift and sudden, yet attentive and deliberate.
With Tanner and Tanner's friends his manner is not in the least deferential, but cool and reticent, keeping them quite effectually at a distance whilst giving them no excuse for complaining of him.
Nevertheless he has a vigilant eye on them always, and that, too, rather cynically, like a man who knows the world well from its seamy side.
He speaks slowly and with a touch of sarcasm; and as he does not at all affect the gentleman in his speech, it may be inferred that his smart appearance is a mark of respect to himself and his own class, not to that which employs him.
He now gets into the car to test his machinery and put his cap and overcoat on again.
Tanner takes off his leather overcoat and pitches it into the car.
The chauffeur (or automobilist or motoreer or whatever England may presently decide to call him) looks round inquiringly in the act of stowing away his hammer.
THE CHAUFFEUR.
Had enough of it, eh?
TANNER.
I may as well walk to the house and stretch my legs and calm my nerves a little. [Looking at his watch] I suppose you know that we have come from Hyde Park Corner to Richmond in twenty-one minutes.
THE CHAUFFEUR.
I'd have done it under fifteen if I'd had a clear road all the way.
TANNER.
Why do you do it? Is it for love of sport or for the fun of terrifying your unfortunate employer?
THE CHAUFFEUR.
What are you afraid of?