easure. Imogen, let Lady Effie and Mrs. Gaylustre hear you play your
lovely harp, but don't let the nasty thing hurt your fingers. Brooke, I
want to speak to you.

[LADY EUPHEMIA and IMOGEN stroll out, followed by MRS. GAYLUSTRE.]

SIR JULIAN TWOMBLEY.

[Mournfully.] I'll dress now, Katherine, and go down.

LADY TWOMBLEY.

Lor', pa, don't speak as if you were thinking of our tomb at Kensal
Green.

SIR JULIAN TWOMBLEY.

Competent authorities assure me there is quiet to be found in the tomb;
I anticipate nothing of that kind where I am going to-night.

[He goes out. LADY TWOMBLEY watches his going, then turns to BROOKE
sharply.]

LADY TWOMBLEY.

Well, have you got it?

BROOKE TWOMBLEY.

My--er----

LADY TWOMBLEY.

Your skeddle.

[BROOKE hands his schedule to LADY TWOMBLEY.]

LADY TWOMBLEY.

There's a dear boy. [She turns over the leaves, gradually her face
assumes a look of horror.] "Total, three thousand----!"

[She folds the schedule, puts it in her pocket, and faces BROOKE
fiercely with her hands clenched.]

LADY TWOMBLEY.

You imp! [She boxes his right ear soundly.]

BROOKE TWOMBLEY.

Mater!

LADY TWOMBLEY.

You villain! [She boxes his left ear.]

BROOKE TWOMBLEY.

Don't, Mater!

LADY TWOMBLEY.

Three thousand pounds! Three thousand times I wish you had never been
born! I--I---- [She breaks down, puts her arms round Brooke's neck, and
cries.] Oh, Brooke, my dear, forgive your poor mother's vile temper.
I've made my Brooke's head ache. Oh, my gracious!

BROOKE TWOMBLEY.

Don't fret, Mater. If you're run rather low at Scott's----

LADY TWOMBLEY.

Scott's, Brooke! When I creep into that bank now and ask for my
pass-book I have to hold on to the edge of the counter, I feel so sick
and giddy.

BROOKE TWOMBLEY.

Oh, very well then, Mater, I can wait. Mr. Nazareth, of Burlington
Street, will accommodate me for a time; a couple of bills, you know, at
three and six months--what?

LADY TWOMBLEY.

[Speaking in a whisper.] Brooky, Brooky, I've thought of those dreadful
things for myself.

BROOKE TWOMBLEY.

For yourself, Mater! Why, you can always get the right side of pa.

LADY TWOMBLEY.

Brooke! Brooky, I must tell you. Just now poor pa has no right side.

BROOKE TWOMBLEY.

Mater!

LADY TWOMBLEY.

It's as much as the dear man can do to get a rattle out of his keys. For
a long time, Brooke, we've all been outrunning the constable.

BROOKE TWOMBLEY.

Really, Ma