away, dear one--nearest your
heart.

[He slips it into his stocking.]

MACPHAIL.

Oh!

MRS. GAYLUSTRE.

And now, as I start in the morning at nine-forty-five, sharp, on the
tick, we must say farewell. Oh, this parting is too cruel. Colin!

[She falls against him.]

MACPHAIL.

Here's my mother! [He throws her off.]

MRS. GAYLUSTRE.

[Under her breath.] Drat your mother!

[LADY MACPHAIL enters.]

LADY MACPHAIL.

Madam. [To MACPHAIL.] Why do you leave the ball-room, my lad?

MACPHAIL.

I've been just watching the moonlight on Loch Auchentoshan.

LADY MACPHAIL.

I am proud to see this devotion to Loch Auchentoshan, but to-night you
have other duties almost equally important. After this paltry waltz we
lose ourselves in the wild pleasures of our native dance.

MACPHAIL.

The Strathspey? [He takes MRS. GAYLUSTRE'S card from his stocking.] Oh!
[Hides it and produces his ball-programme from his other stocking.] The
Strathspey.

LADY MACPHAIL.

Come, lad. They have yet to see the Macphail lead the Strathspey with
his betrothed.

[They go out together.]

MRS. GAYLUSTRE.

Yes, and they shall ultimately see the Macphail writing love-letters to
Fanny--love-letters with a promise of marriage in 'em. I'll consult a
solicitor directly I reach town and be ready to marry or to sue him. Oh,
Fanny, Fanny, ungrateful girl, what a lot you have to be thankful for!

[She runs out and ANGELE peeps in.]

ANGELE.

Milord! Miladi! [She enters.] I must find miladi! Miladi!

[LADY TWOMBLEY enters.]

LADY TWOMBLEY.

No news from Reeves & Shuckleback, the Stockbrokers. The waiting for it
will finish me!

ANGELE.

Oh, Miladi Twombley.

LADY TWOMBLEY.

[Turning to her sharply.] Ah!

ANGELE.

Tell me, vere is milord?

LADY TWOMBLEY.

What! Has a messenger come from Strachlachan with a telegram for Lord
Drumdurris? Speak?

ANGELE.

I do not know.

LADY TWOMBLEY.

Oh!

ANGELE.

But, oh, miladi, I 'ave been a vicked girl!

LADY TWOMBLEY.

I dare say you have--that's your business.

ANGELE.

Miladi, ze leetle Lord Aberbrothock is indispose.

LADY TWOMBLEY.

The baby?

ANGELE.

Yees. To please milord, and contrary to miladi's ordares, I put Lord
Aberbrothock to bed wiz his gun.

LADY TWOMBLEY.

I know--I'm a mother--the child has swallowed the paint!

ANGELE.

Ah, yees!

LADY TWOMBLEY.

Send a groom to Strachlachan for Dr. M'Gubbie.

ANGELE.

Yees, miladi.

LADY