Act III

The Clandon's sitting room in the hotel. An expensive apartment on
the ground floor, with a French window leading to the gardens. In the
centre of the room is a substantial table, surrounded by chairs, and
draped with a maroon cloth on which opulently bound hotel and railway
guides are displayed. A visitor entering through the window and coming
down to this central table would have the fireplace on his left, and a
writing table against the wall on his right, next the door, which is
further down. He would, if his taste lay that way, admire the wall
decoration of Lincrusta Walton in plum color and bronze lacquer, with
dado and cornice; the ormolu consoles in the corners; the vases on
pillar pedestals of veined marble with bases of polished black wood, one
on each side of the window; the ornamental cabinet next the vase on the
side nearest the fireplace, its centre compartment closed by an inlaid
door, and its corners rounded off with curved panes of glass protecting
shelves of cheap blue and white pottery; the bamboo tea table, with
folding shelves, in the corresponding space on the other side of the
window; the pictures of ocean steamers and Landseer's dogs; the
saddlebag ottoman in line with the door but on the other side of the
room; the two comfortable seats of the same pattern on the hearthrug;
and finally, on turning round and looking up, the massive brass pole
above the window, sustaining a pair of maroon rep curtains with
decorated borders of staid green. Altogether, a room well arranged to
flatter the occupant's sense of importance, and reconcile him to a
charge of a pound a day for its use.

Mrs. Clandon sits at the writing table, correcting proofs. Gloria is
standing at the window, looking out in a tormented revery.

The clock on the mantelpiece strikes five with a sickly clink, the
bell being unable to bear up against the black marble cenotaph in which
it is immured.

MRS. CLANDON. Five! I don't think we need wait any longer for the
children. The are sure to get tea somewhere.

GLORIA (wearily). Shall I ring?

MRS. CLANDON. Do, my dear. (Gloria goes to the hearth and rings.)
I have finished these proofs at last, thank goodness!

GLORIA (strolling listlessly across the room and coming behind her
mother's chair). What proofs?

MRS. CLANDON The new edition of Twentieth Century Women.

GLORIA (with a bitter smile). There's a chapter missing.

MRS. CLANDON (beginning to hunt among her proofs). Is there? Surely
not.

GLORIA. I mean an unwritten one. Perhaps I shall write it for you--
-when I know the end of it. (She goes back to the window.)

MRS. CLANDON. Gloria! More enigmas!

GLORIA. Oh, no. The same enigma.

MRS.