Ferrand. [Softly.] Must be philosopher, Monsieur!  They will but run him in a little.

     [From the model’s room Mrs. Megan has come out, shepherded by
     Canon Bertley.]

Bertley.  Let’s see, your Christian name is——.

Mrs. Megan.  Guinevere.

Bertley.  Oh!  Ah!  Ah!  Ann, take Gui—­take our little friend into the study a minute:  I am going to put her into service.  We shall make a new woman of her, yet.

Ann. [Handing Canon Bertley the brush, and turning to Mrs. Megan.]
Come on!

     [She leads into the house, and Mrs. Megan follows Stolidly.]

Bertley. [Brushing Calway’s back.] Have you fallen?

Calway.  Yes.

Bertley.  Dear me!  How was that?

Hoxton.  That old ruffian drunk on the doorstep.  Hope they’ll give him a sharp dose!  These rag-tags!

     [He looks round, and his angry eyes light by chance on Ferrand.]

Ferrand. [With his eyes on Hoxton—­softly.] Monsieur, something tells me it is time I took the road again.

Wellwyn. [Fumbling out a sovereign.] Take this, then!

Ferrand. [Refusing the coin.] Non, Monsieur.  To abuse ’ospitality is not in my character.

Bertley.  We must not despair of anyone.

Hoxton.  Who talked of despairing?  Treat him, as I say, and you’ll see!

Calway.  The interest of the State——­

Hoxton.  The interest of the individual citizen sir——­

Bertley.  Come!  A little of both, a little of both!

     [They resume their brushing.]

Ferrand.  You are now debarrassed of us three, Monsieur.  I leave you instead—­these sirs. [He points.] ‘Au revoir, Monsieur’! [Motioning towards the fire.] ’Appy New Year!

[He slips quietly out.  Wellwyn, turning, contemplates the three reformers.  They are all now brushing away, scratching each other’s backs, and gravely hissing.  As he approaches them, they speak with a certain unanimity.]

Hoxton.  My theory——!

Calway.  My theory——!

Bertley.  My theory——!

     [They stop surprised.  Wellwyn makes a gesture of discomfort,
     as they speak again with still more unanimity.]

Hoxton.  My——!  Calway.  My——!  Bertley.  My——!

     [They stop in greater surprise.  The stage is blotted dark.]

Curtain.

ACT III