ff, you have made what you men call a pile, Keith. All
through your blundering aunty you will have made a pile.

EARL OF DRUMDURRIS.

Which I hand over to you, Aunt Kate?

LADY TWOMBLEY.

I shall borrow it, Keith, dear--may I?

EARL OF DRUMDURRIS.

And if--pardon the question--if your delicate little financial
operations----

LADY TWOMBLEY.

Don't come off?

EARL OF DRUMDURRIS.

Certainly; if they don't come off, what then?

LADY TWOMBLEY.

Then through your reckless speculation you will have impoverished your
estate for the rest of your life!

EARL OF DRUMDURRIS.

Aunt!

[EGIDIA enters.]

EGIDIA.

Keith!

EARL OF DRUMDURRIS.

Tell me.

EGIDIA.

Fergus has taken a turn for the better.

EARL OF DRUMDURRIS.

Egidia, how can I look you in the face?

EGIDIA.

Cannot we read a lesson from this dreadful occurrence?

EARL OF DRUMDURRIS.

To reconcile our views?

EGIDIA.

Finally. You see now how unfitted our son is to a soldier's life.

EARL OF DRUMDURRIS.

Yes, I have been wrong. Happily it is not too late to remould his
character. We must return to the ball-room.

EGIDIA.

First come with me and peep into the nursery.

EARL OF DRUMDURRIS.

By all means--the nursery.

TOGETHER.

The nursery.

[They go out as the DOWAGER enters.]

DOWAGER.

Katherine!

LADY TWOMBLEY.

Dora?

DOWAGER.

I am beside myself! Have you heard the news?

LADY TWOMBLEY.

News? Telegrams for Keith?

DOWAGER.

I know nothing about telegrams. I've just overheard Julian talking
solemnly to Brooke. Do you know what your husband intends to do?

LADY TWOMBLEY.

Grow his own vegetables.

DOWAGER.

Bother his vegetables! He resigns his place in the Ministry.

LADY TWOMBLEY.

The same thing. [To herself.] Ah, why can't he wait!

[SIR JULIAN enters with BROOKE.]

SIR JULIAN TWOMBLEY.

Katherine, I have been telling Brooke of the change in his prospects.

BROOKE TWOMBLEY.

I say, Mater, such a blow--what!

LADY TWOMBLEY.

Pa, why can't you wait?

SIR JULIAN TWOMBLEY.

Wait--for what, Katherine?

DOWAGER.

Wait till the boy can patch up his future with a wealthy wife, of
course.

SIR JULIAN TWOMBLEY.

Really, Dora, I don't think it would be absolutely fair----

DOWAGER.

Fair! People's actions are like their heads of hair--they can be dyed
flaxen. [To BROOKE.] Boy, why do you let the grass grow under your
pumps in this way?

BROOKE TWOMBLEY.

I haven't l