DR. FRELICH: I can talk to her now, if you wish.

VASHYA: Yes. Take her out of here. The next room. In there.

DR. FRELICH: Will you come, Lady Shontine?

LADY SHONTINE: Yes, Doctor. You have kind eyes. Yes, I’ll go.

VASHYA: Remember, Doctor, whatever she says—the woman is out of her mind. [A pause as they exit.] Show Lord Huntington in.

PHILLIP: Yes, sir.

LORD HUNTINGTON: Sir Vashya.

VASHYA: I’m glad you’ve come. PHILLIP! Search him. [Phillip frisks him.]

LORD HUNTINGTON: Is this customary?

VASHYA: Yes. We make no exceptions. You may go, Phillip! Where’s the rest of ‘em?

LORD HUNTINGTON: The cabinet will come a little later. I wanted to talk to you first privately.

VASHYA: Yes?

LORD HUNTINGTON: Sir Vashya, we’re entering the sixth year of the war.

VASHYA: Yes?

LORD HUNTINGTON: It’s gone on and on. Our country’s exhausted. So are all the others. The thing has got to stop!

VASHYA: So?

LORD HUNTINGTON [pausing]: I’ve come to you.

VASHYA: To me?

LORD HUNTINGTON: Yes, to you.

VASHYA: Well, that’s very flattering. In the next room, Lord Huntington, is an eminent mental specialist. He’s visiting my wife. She’s been having hallucinations lately. I recommend him highly. Perhaps he could be of benefit in your case.

LORD HUNTINGTON [with hardly-controlled fury]: It’s well known, Sir Vashya, how you’ve treated your wife.

VASHYA: Meaning?

LORD HUNTINGTON: Meaning it doesn’t become you very well as a—gentleman—to be flippant at her expense.

VASHYA: Huh! You aristocrats stick together against me, eh? Me, Vashya, the peasant! You even presume to tell me how I should manage my wife.

LORD HUNTINGTON: Be careful!

VASHYA: Careful? I’ve never been careful. Why should I be careful with you? I could grind you under my heel! But why do I let myself get worked up like this over your little bunch of pedigreed fleas? I don’t know. Sometimes I remember how it was twenty, thirty years ago—then I feel like I want to spit in your faces! All of you! This is my time—not yours! I am dealing out the cards now!

LORD HUNTINGTON [quietly]: Not now—not any longer, Vashya.

VASHYA: No?

LORD HUNTINGTON: No, Vashya, your hand is played out.

VASHYA: Played out is it? Since when!

LORD HUNTINGTON: Quite recently. I’ve gotten some information about your—your secret activities.

VASHYA: You’ll explain at once or apologize!

LORD HUNTINGTON: Don’t get excited. I’ve come here to talk things over quietly.

VASHYA: I won’t mince words with you. Huntington, the government you represent is under my thumb. You can’t afford to be insolent to me. D’you know who I am?

LORD HUNTINGTON: Yes. You’re beginning to be pretty widely known, Vashya, as the International Butcher.

VASHYA [striking him]: You say that to me!?

LORD HUNTINGTON: I say it to your face, Vashya, and hope that you like it.

VASHYA: That’s how I like it! [Laughing.] I slapped you! You’ve got the red mark of my hand on your face! I did it, I slapped you, the Prime Minister! Once you aristocrats spit in my face. Now I slap yours. Me, the common dung-heap peasant, Vashya Shontine, slap you, Lord Huntington, the Prime Minister. You’ve got the red marks of my fingers across your elegant lavender-scented cheek— the fingers that used to hold a pitchfork! What do you think of that, eh?