on in which he needn't be very polite.

EARL OF DRUMDURRIS.

What will he say if I propose such a thing?

IMOGEN.

He'll be extremely rude, I think. But, oh, I shall be so grateful,
Keith.

[LADY TWOMBLEY enters.]

LADY TWOMBLEY.

Imogen! Child, what has happened to your head?

IMOGEN.

I--I've been playing marbles, mamma.

LADY TWOMBLEY.

Not on your head?

IMOGEN.

No, mamma, upon the floor.

LADY TWOMBLEY.

With Sir Colin?

IMOGEN.

Certainly not, mamma; I don't know Sir Colin nearly well enough to sit
with him upon the floor. [Putting up her hair.]

LADY TWOMBLEY.

Darling, has Sir Colin made any remark of an interesting nature?

IMOGEN.

No--he stammered a little, and, while my back was turned, he ran away
after his mammy.

LADY TWOMBLEY.

[To herself.] I knew it! Why didn't we lock him in till he had provided
for my poor child's future?

[PROBYN enters.]

PROBYN.

Mrs. Gaylustre is here, my lady.

IMOGEN.

Oh, that person!

[IMOGEN snatches up the box of playthings and hurries out. MRS.
GAYLUSTRE enters. PROBYN retires.]

MRS. GAYLUSTRE.

[To everybody.] How d'ye do? How d'ye do? Lord Drumdurris, charmed to
see you. How are you, Brooke?

BROOKE TWOMBLEY.

[To himself.] Brooke! Impudence!

MRS. GAYLUSTRE.

You look bilious, Kate.

[She kisses LADY TWOMBLEY, who sinks on to the settee.]

BROOKE TWOMBLEY.

[To DRUMDURRIS.] It's too bad of the Mater! Fancy a fellow making a chum
of his tailor--what?

EARL OF DRUMDURRIS.

Mr. White, may I speak to you?

[BROOKE, DRUMDURRIS, and VALENTINE go out.]

MRS. GAYLUSTRE.

[Examining the flute.] Pa has been tootling again, Kate--we must buy him
a drum.

LADY TWOMBLEY.

Ah--h--h--h!

MRS. GAYLUSTRE.

Hullo! What's the matter?

LADY TWOMBLEY.

As if you didn't know! Oh, those awful bits of paper!

MRS. GAYLUSTRE.

Still worrying about those little Bills of yours which my brother Joseph
holds, eh?

LADY TWOMBLEY.

Those Bills! Why doesn't the ink fade that's on them, or the house burn
that holds 'em?

MRS. GAYLUSTRE.

Impossible. Joseph and I have been taught to believe that there is a
special Providence watching over all Bills of Exchange. Come, don't
fume--Bill Number One doesn't fall due till next month.

LADY TWOMBLEY.

Oh, Gaylustre, I shan't be able to meet it.

MRS. GAYLUSTRE.

Shan't you? Well, I dare say Jo and I will renew--if you make much of us
and pet us. Meanwhile, don't thi