Granillo. What’s wrong with the light?
Rupert. Nothing is wrong with the light, Granillo. Only I am a creature of half-lights, and seeing that you have a very pleasantly shaded little table lamp, can’t we make use of it?
Brandon (rising and going to lamp). Yes. I quite agree. (Switches it on and goes over to turn out light by door.) But I hope you’re not going to settle down too heavily, and make yourself too much at home, because we’ve got to be off before long. (Light goes out and stage is it by table lamp only.)
Rupert. Ah—that’s better. (Crossing his legs and leaning back.) Much better. I am sad to-night, you know. What’s the time?
Brandon (looks at clock). About five-and-twenty to eleven.
Rupert. Five-and-twenty to eleven. I expect you’re wanting to get rid of me, aren’t you?
Brandon. Not at all, Rupert.
Rupert. I hope not. I’m full of melancholy, and don’t want to go home. . . . You must bear with me. . . . It’s been such a strange evening. . . .
Brandon. Strange evening—why?
Granillo (quickly). Why strange?
Rupert. I can’t tell you. That’s my trouble. I suppose it’s the thunder, and one thing and another. (Drinks.) Thunder always upsets me. Besides, I’m always melancholy at this hour. Five-and-twenty to eleven. It’s a curious hour. . . . Did you ever read Goldsmith’s “Nightpiece”?
Brandon. No. I can’t actually recall it.
Rupert. No? You should. It’s about the city at night. I shall do his “Nightpiece” up to date one of these days. And I shall make it five-and-twenty to eleven. Now. It’s a wonderful hour. I am particularly susceptible to it.
Brandon. Why so wonderful?
[ 72 ]
