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HYPATIA. Another talker! Men like conventions because men made them. I didnt make them: I dont like them: I wont keep them. Now, what will you do?

PERCIVAL. Bolt. [He runs out through the pavilion].

HYPATIA. I’ll catch you. [She dashes off in pursuit].

[During this conversation the head of the scandalized man in the Turkish bath has repeatedly risen from the lunette, with a strong expression of moral shock. It vanishes abruptly as the two turn towards it in their flight. At the same moment Tarleton comes back through the vestibule door, exhausted by severe and unaccustomed exercise.]

TARLETON.[looking after the flying figures with amazement] Hallo, Patsy: whats up? Another aeroplane? [They are far too preoccupied to hear him; and he is left staring after them as they rush away through the garden. He goes to the pavilion door and looks up; but the heavens are empty. His exhaustion disables him from further inquiry. He dabs his brow with his handkerchief, and walks stiffly to the nearest convenient support, which happens to be the Turkish bath. He props himself upon it with his elbow, and covers his eyes with his hand for a moment. After a few sighing breaths, he feels a little better, and uncovers his eyes. The man’s head rises from the lunette a few inches from his nose. He recoils from the bath with a violent start]. Oh Lord! My brain’s gone. [Calling piteously] Chickabiddy! [He staggers down to the writing table].

THE MAN. [coming out of the bath, pistol in hand] Another sound; and youre a dead man.

TARLETON.[braced] Am I? Well, youre a live one: thats one comfort. I thought you were a ghost. [He sits down, quite undisturbed by the pistol] Who are you; and what the devil were you doing in my new Turkish bath?

THE MAN. [with tragic intensity] I am the son of Lucinda Titmus.

TARLETON.[the name conveying nothing to him] Indeed? And how is she? Quite well, I hope, eh?

THE MAN. She is dead. Dead, my God! and youre alive.

TARLETON.[unimpressed by the tragedy, but sympathetic] Oh! Lost your mother? Thats sad. I’m sorry. But we cant all have the luck to survive our mothers, and be nursed out of the world by the hands that nursed us into it.

THE MAN. Much you care, damn you!

TARLETON.Oh, dont cut up rough. Face it like a man. You see I didnt know your mother; but Ive no doubt she was an excellent woman.

THE MAN. Not know her! Do you dare to stand there by her open grave and deny that you knew her?

TARLETON.[trying to recollect] What did you say her name was?

THE MAN. Lucinda Titmus.

TARLETON.Well, I ought to remember a rum name like that if I ever heard it. But I dont. Have you a photograph or anything?

THE MAN. Forgotten even the name of your victim!

TARLETON.Oh! she was my victim, was she?

THE MAN. She was. And you shall see her face again before you die, dead as she is. I have a photograph.

TARLETON.Good.

THE MAN. Ive two photographs.

TARLETON.Still better. Treasure the mother’s pictures. Good boy!