_O'Dwyer._
[_Handing the card to Tom._] Ah, I'll make rules here. In a week's time
you'll not know this for the same theatre----
[_Tom has passed the card to Imogen without looking at it._]
_Imogen._
[_Staring at it blankly._] Oh----!
_Tom._
[_To her._] Eh?
_Imogen._
Sir William.
_Tom._
Sir William.!
_Imogen._
What can he want? what shall we do?
_Tom._
[_After referring to his watch--to the Hall-Keeper._] Bring this
gentleman on to the stage. [_The Hall-Keeper withdraws. To O'Dwyer._]
Make yourself scarce for a few moments, O'Dwyer. Some private
business-----
_O'Dwyer._
All right. I've plenty to occupy me. I'll begin to frame those
rules---[_He disappears._]
_Imogen._
[_To Tom._] Not here------
_Tom._
[_To Imogen._] The boy can't arrive for another twenty minutes. Besides,
we must, sooner or later, accept responsibility for our act.
_Imogen._
[_Leaning upon his arm._] Heavens! I foretold this!
_Tom._
[_Grimly._] I know--"said so all along."
_Imogen._
If he should withdraw his capital!
_Tom._
[_With clenched hands._] At least, that would enable me to write a
melodrama.
_Imogen._
Why?
_Tom._