SERV. She left a note for you, sir. (_gives note to NED. Exit, L. NED opens note, holds it out to ALMA_)

SIR H. What does she say?

ALMA. Only two words--"Good-bye."

_Re-enter TOM, C., from L., un.o.bserved._

MRS. D. It's an elopement!

DR. Our worst fears are realised.

NED. (_springing up_) What do you mean?

DR. I will make no a.s.sertion--hazard no conjecture. I will ask, simply, where is Mr. Potter?

TOM. Here! (_all turn_)

ALMA. (_recognising him_) Tom!

MRS. D. You know Mr. Potter?

TOM. Alma!

SIR H. (_as if to himself_) She _is_ his wife! (_sits, R._)

END OF ACT II.

ACT III.

SCENE.--_ALMA BLAKE'S apartments. An octagonal room, being a sort of boudoir, furnished and draped in the extreme of artistic luxury. Doors R. and L. A number of bouquets about the room. Photographs, knick-knacks everywhere. Window C. TOM'S picture of the knights on the wall, R._

_Enter SUSAN, L.C. with a bouquet._

SUSAN. Another of 'em! Who's this from, I wonder? (_reads card attached_) From Sir George Greenfield. We shall have enough to stock Covent Garden directly. (_Enter ALMA, R.C., in a morning wrapper, with her hair loosely arranged_) Another bouquet! (_gives it to ALMA; goes up back_)

ALMA. (_looks at card carelessly_) Oh! (_tosses the bouquet amongst the rest_) No letter from the theatre?

SUSAN. No, miss.

ALMA. It's very strange.

SUSAN. Did you expect one?

ALMA. Yes, from Mr. d.i.c.k. Before I play in the new piece----

SUSAN. In Mr. Chetwynd's piece?

ALMA. I must have better terms. I asked five pounds a week advance, and d.i.c.k wouldn't hear of it; so last night I gave him notice.

SUSAN. You're going to leave?

ALMA. Not I! (_crosses to sofa_) But that's the only way to deal with d.i.c.k. I ought to have had a letter by this time giving me my terms.

SUSAN. Perhaps Mr. d.i.c.k 'll call.

ALMA. Perhaps. I don't care. (_drops on sofa_) Oh, dear! (_leans her head on her hands; slight pause; SUSAN arranges the bouquet_) How did I look last night?

SUSAN. (_coming down to back of table_) Your very best.

ALMA. How did I play?

SUSAN. Better than ever, I think. (_goes up and arranges bouquet; another pause_)

ALMA. Susan, have you ever been in love?

SUSAN. La, miss, a dozen times! Haven't you?

ALMA. Only once.

SUSAN. Well, I _am_ surprised.

ALMA. And that was with my husband.

SUSAN. Gracious me! (_comes down to back of table_)

ALMA. He was in front last night.

SUSAN. Your husband, miss! I didn't know you had a husband.

ALMA. We all have husbands--on the stage.

SUSAN. You keep 'em very quiet.

ALMA. Best thing we can do, with most of 'em! My husband painted that.

(_pointing to picture, R._)

SUSAN. The picture Mr. Chetwynd gave you?

ALMA. Yes.

SUSAN. Don't you and your husband speak, miss?

ALMA. I hadn't seen him for six years, until three months ago; when we met accidentally.

SUSAN. And didn't he speak _then?_