Miss Clandon:
I---
CRAMPTON (turning on him). That girl's name is Crampton, Mr.
Valentine, not Clandon. Do you wish to join them in insulting me?
VALENTINE (ignoring him). I'm overwhelmed, Miss Clandon. It's all
my fault: I brought him here: I'm responsible for him. And I'm ashamed
of him.
CRAMPTON. What d'y' mean?
GLORIA (rising coldly). No harm has been done, Mr. Valentine. We
have all been a little childish, I am afraid. Our party has been a
failure: let us break it up and have done with it. (She puts her chair
aside and turns to the steps, adding, with slighting composure, as she
passes Crampton.) Good-bye, father.
(She descends the steps with cold, disgusted indifference. They all
look after her, and so do not notice the return of the waiter from the
hotel, laden with Crampton's coat, Valentine's stick, a couple of shawls
and parasols, a white canvas umbrella, and some camp stools.)
CRAMPTON (to himself, staring after Gloria with a ghastly
expression). Father! Father!! (He strikes his fist violently on the
table.) Now---
WAITER (offering the coat). This is yours, sir, I think, sir.
(Crampton glares at him; then snatches it rudely and comes down the
terrace towards the garden seat, struggling with the coat in his angry
efforts to put it on. McComas rises and goes to his assistance; then
takes his hat and umbrella from the little iron table, and turns towards
the steps.
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