_
_There is a door_ R., _leading into the hall. There is also a door_ L.,
_but it only leads into a cupboard that_ Mary _really needs._
Marmaduke Beltravers, _a well-dressed man of thirty-five, is standing
by a small table pressing his suit_ (_his matrimonial suit, of
course_), _but without success. His bold black eyes are flashing._
Mary's _lovely face (_by an ingenious manipulation of the limelight_)
is quivering._
_Marmaduke Beltravers_ (_hoarsely_). I have laid at your feet my hand, my
heart and my flourishing business, and thus--thus I am supplanted by that
puling saint, George Jeffreys. A-ha! [_Gnaws his moustache._
_Enter_ George Jeffreys, _an English gentleman._
_George Jeffreys_ (_furiously_). You here? You hound! You blackguard! You
...
_Mary_ (_realising that this is going to be no place for a lady_). The
butcher--know his ring. [_Exit by door_ R.
_G.J._ (_pointing fiercely to cupboard_). Go!
_M.B._ (_going_). Bah! You triumph now, but my day will dawn yettah.
(_Starts._) What was that?
_Newsboy_ (_outside_).
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