Roper. [Very quickly.] You forget all about it.  You were asleep.

Jack.  Must I go down to the Court to-morrow?

Roper. [Shaking his head.] No.

Barthwick. [In a relieved voice.] Is that so?

Roper.  Yes.

Barthwick.  But you’ll go, Roper.

Roper.  Yes.

Jack. [With wan cheerfulness.] Thanks, awfully!  So long as I don’t have to go. [Putting his hand up to his head.] I think if you’ll excuse me—­I’ve had a most beastly day. [He looks from his father to his mother.]

Mrs. Barthwick. [Turning quickly.] Goodnight, my boy.

Jack.  Good-night, Mother.

     [He goes out.  Mrs. Barthwick heaves a sigh.  There is a
     silence.]

Barthwick.  He gets off too easily.  But for my money that woman would have prosecuted him.

Roper.  You find money useful.

Barthwick.  I’ve my doubts whether we ought to hide the truth——­

Roper.  There’ll be a remand.

Barthwick.  What!  D’ you mean he’ll have to appear on the remand.

Roper.  Yes.

Barthwick.  H’m, I thought you’d be able to——­Look here, Roper, you must keep that purse out of the papers.

     [Roper fixes his little eyes on him and nods.]

Mrs. Barthwick.  Mr. Roper, don’t you think the magistrate ought to be told what sort of people these Jones’s are; I mean about their immorality before they were married.  I don’t know if John told you.

Roper.  Afraid it’s not material.

Mrs. Barthwick.  Not material?

Roper.  Purely private life!  May have happened to the magistrate.

Barthwick. [With a movement as if to shift a burden.] Then you’ll take the thing into your hands?

Roper.  If the gods are kind. [He holds his hand out.]

Barthwick. [Shaking it dubiously.] Kind eh?  What?  You going?

Roper.  Yes.  I’ve another case, something like yours—­most unexpected.

     [He bows to Mrs. Barthwick, and goes out, followed by
     Barthwick, talking to the last.  Mrs. Barthwick at the table
     bursts into smothered sobs.  Barthwick returns.]

Barthwick. [To himself.] There’ll be a scandal!

Mrs. Barthwick. [Disguising her grief at once.] I simply can’t imagine what Roper means by making a joke of a thing like that!

Barthwick. [Staring strangely.] You!  You can’t imagine anything!  You’ve no more imagination than a fly!

Mrs. Barthwick. [Angrily.] You dare to tell me that I have no imagination.

Barthwick. [Flustered.] I—­I ’m upset.  From beginning to end, the whole thing has been utterly against my principles.