[To Peggy, who is rubbing her shoulders and looking vindictively at Rankling.] Oh, my dear young lady, pray think of this only as an amusing mistake. The Admiral has been away for more than four years—Dinah was but a child when he last saw her. [Weeping.] Oh, dear me!
Be quiet, Emma—you'll make a scene. [To Peggy.] Where is Miss Rankling?
Miss Rankling presents her compliments to Miss Dyott, and her love to her papa and mamma, and, as her mind is quite made up, she would rather not cause distress by granting an interview. [Rankling sinks into a chair.]
Archibald!
[To Peggy.] The port wine! [Peggy advances with the cake and wine.]
[Kneeling to Rankling.] Archibald, be yourself! Remember, you have to respond for the Navy at a banquet to-night. Think of your reputation as a Genial After-dinner Speaker!
[Rising with forced calmness.] Thank you, Emma. [To Miss Dyott.] Madam, my daughter is in your charge till you receive instructions from my solicitor. [Glaring at Peggy.] A short written apology shall be sent to this young lady in the course of the afternoon. [To his wife!] Emma, your hair's rough—come home. [He gives Mrs. Rankling his arm. They go out. Miss Dyott sinks exhausted on sofa. Peggy offers her a glass of wine.]
Oh, my goodness! [Declining the wine.] No, no—not that. It has been decanted since Midsummer. [Queckett, his coat collar turned tip, appears at the door looking back over his shoulder.]
What's the matter with the Ranklings? [Seeing Miss Dyott and Peggy.] Oh! has that vexing girl told Caroline? [The clock strikes two.]
[To herself!] Two o'clock—I must remove to Henrietta Street. [Seeing Queckett.] My darling.
My love. [To himself] All right.
I am going to prepare for my journey—the train leaves Paddington at three. [As Miss Dyott goes towards the centre door, Jane enters carrying about twenty boxes of cigars, which she deposits on the floor and then goes out.] What is this?
H'm! my cigars, Carrie—brought 'em with me in a cab.
Oh! [Reading the label of one of the boxes.] "Por Carolina." Ah, poor Caroline. [She goes out. Directly she is gone, Peggy and Queckett, by a simultaneous movement, rush to the two doors and close them.]
Now, Miss Hesslerigge!
Sir.
We will come to a distinct understanding.
If you please.
In the first place, you will return me my telegram.
I can't.
You mean you won't.
No, I can't.
Why not?
I have just sent it to the telegraph office, by Tyler.
Despatched it!
Despatched it—it was one and fourpence.
Oh, you—you—you vexing girl! Mr. Mallory will be here to-night.
Yes—and will "Bring two or three good fellows." At least we hope so.
Hope so!
[Standing over him with her arms folded.] Listen, Mr. Vere Queckett. [He starts.] We ladies are going to give a little party to-night to celebrate a serious event in the life of one of us. We have invited only one young gentleman; your friends will be welcome.
Oh!
Without us your party must fail, for we command the servants. Let it be a compact—your soirée shall be our soirée, and our soirée your soirée.
And if I indignantly decline?
[Solemnly.] Consider, Mr. Queckett—your Christmas holidays are to be passed with us. Think in which direction your comfort and freedom lie—in friendship or in enmity? Even now, Ermyntrude Johnson is trimming the holly with one of your razors.
But what explanation could I give Mr. Mallory of your presence here?
Every detail has been considered. You are our bachelor uncle.
Uncle!
We are your four nieces.
[Queckett looks up—is tickled by the idea, and bursts out laughing. Peggy joins.]
I don't see why that shouldn't be rather jolly.
[Roguishly.] D'ye consent?
Can't help myself—can I?
[Delighted] That you can't.
Let's be friends, then—shall we? Have you girls got any money?
No. Have you?
No! that is, all mine's invested.
[Outside.] Tyler, fetch a cab. [Queckett makes a bolt from the room, and Peggy vigorously re-arranges the furniture as Miss Dyott enters, dressed as if for a journey, and carrying her umbrella and hand-bag again.] Where is my husband?
[Looking about her.] Your hand-bag, Miss Dyott? [Queckett re-enters.]
Still in your overcoat, dear?
Of course, Carrie. I'll drive with you to Paddington.
No, no—I insist on going alone.
[Taking off his coat with alacrity.] Oh, Carrie, I am disappointed!
[Dinah, Gwendoline, and Ermyntrude come through the hall, into the room, and form a group. Jane enters the hall. Tyler joins her there.]
Miss Hesslerigge—young ladies. I regret to say I am compelled to—to quit Volumnia House for a time. The length of my absence depends upon how long it runs—[correcting herself in confusion]—upon how long it runs to it, to employ a colloquialism of the vulgar. But I depart with a light heart, because I leave my husband in authority. He will find a trusty lieutenant in Miss Hesslerigge. Ladies, to abandon for the moment our mother tongue,Je vous embrasse de tout mon cour—soyez sages!
[Together.] Au revoir, Mademoiselle Dyott! Bon voyage, Mademoiselle Dyott! [Peggy joins the Girls and they talk earnestly. A Cabman is seen carrying out the boxes from the hall, assisted by Tyler. Miss Dyott produces some paper packets of money from her hand-bag.]
[As she gives the packets to Queckett.] Vere, the house-agent will apply for the rent—there it is. Our fire insurance expired yesterday—post the premium to the Eagle Office at once. Jane's wages are due next week—deduct for the broken water bottle. When you need exercise, dear one, tidy up the back yard—the recreation ground. A charwoman assists Jane on Fridays—three quarters of a day, and leaves before her tea. Good-bye, Vere.
The cab's a-waitin', ma'am. [Miss Dyott takes Queckett's arm.]
Good-bye, Miss Dyott. [Miss Dyott and Queckett go out through the hall. Peggy, Ermyntrude, and Gwendoline run over to the windows and look out. Dinah sits apart, thinking.]
There they are!
Miss Dyott's in the cab!
She's off.
Hurrah! Hurrah! [Queckett returns, the Girls surround him demonstratively.]
Dinah—young ladies—[pointing to Queckett]—Uncle Vere!
[Together.] Uncle Vere! Uncle Vere! [Queckett tries to maintain his dignity, and pushes the girls from him. Tyler, with Jane, is seen letting off a squib in the hall.]
The scene is a plain-looking schoolroom t Miss Dyott's. Outside the two windows runs a narrow balcony, and beyond are seen the upper stories and roofs of the opposite houses. There are two doors facing each other. The room is decorated for the occasion with holly and evergreen, and a table is laid with supper. Peggy is standing on a chair, with a large hammer in her hand, nailing up holly.
[Surveying her work.] There! I'm sure Miss Dyott wouldn't recognise the dull old class-rooms. [Descending.] I think it's time I dressed. [Queckett enters slowly; he is in a perfectly fitting evening dress, with a flower in his button-hole, but looks much depressed. He and Peggy regard each other for a moment silently.] Oh, I'm so glad you're ready early! How good it makes one feel, giving pleasure to others—doesn't it? Aren't you well?
Yes—no. I deeply regret plunging into the vortex of these festivities.
Oh, I suppose you're nervous in society.
[Drawing himself up!] Nervous in society, Miss Hesslerigge?
What do you think of the decorations? Artistic, aren't they?
A treat at a Sunday School!
Then you shouldn't have locked up the rooms downstairs.
I daren't allow the neighbours to see the house lighted up downstairs. I wish I could have locked up all you vexing girls.
That's not the spirit to give a party in! [Contemplating the table.] How many do you think your friend, Mr. Mallory, will bring?
I don't think Mr. Mallory will find his way here at all. Have you observed the fog?
Is it foggy?
You can't see your hand before you outside. I sincerely hope my friend willnotcome.
There's hospitality! Ours will.
Whoisyour friend?
Mr. Paulover.
And who the devil is—
I don't think that's the language for a party, Mr. Queckett!
I beg your pardon. WhoisPaulover? [Tyler enters with a bill in-his hand, with his hair stiffly brushed and greased, and wearing an expression of intense wonderment.] What's this?
A beautiful large lobster salid is come, sir.
[Looking at Peggy.] I haven't ordered a lobster salad. [In an undertone.] You know, this is getting extremely vexing. [He takes from his pocket the packets of money previously given him by Miss Dyott.] I've already paid a bill for some oysters and apâté de foie gras. Jane's wages went for that. [Opening a packet.] Now, here's a salad. That breaks into next week's household expenses. [Handing the money to Tyler, who goes out.]
We're only girls, you know. And you seem to forget you're our uncle.
[Irritably.] I amnotyour uncle.
To-night you are. But you needn't be our uncle to-morrow.
[Gloomily.] Somebody will have to bemyuncle to-morrow. Then I understand there's a lark pudding ordered for half-past nine. I can't allow the account to be sent in to—to—
To Auntie?
Well—to—to Auntie. Who pays for the lark pudding?
You couldn't well ask girls to do it; besides, it's your party.
It isnotmy party, and it isyourlark pudding.
It may be our lark—but it's your pudding. [Tyler enters still much astonished, and with another bill.]
[Taking the bill.] What's that?
Sich a lot of champagne's come, sir!
Champagne! Who ordered that? I didn't.
Hush! I did—I did—I did.
Then itisyour party?
Part of the party is my party. [Opening another packet.] I've broken into the rent. [He hands Tyler the bill and some money, pocketing the remainder. Tyler goes out.] The Fire Insurance alone remains intact. [Opening the last packet.] Postal Orders for thirty shillings. I'll despatch that, at any rate. [He sits at the writing-table and begins to write. Peggy hammers up the last piece of holly, as Queckett tries to write.] Oh, you vexing girl!
Beg pardon; this is the last blow. [She gives another knock as Jane enters, carrying a large ornamental wedding-cake. Jane is in a black gown and smart cap and apron; her eyes are wide open with pleasure and astonishment. Jane deposits the cake upon the writing-table before Queckett.]
'Scuse me, sir; the confectioner's jest brought the things.
What's that?Thatisn't the lark pudding.
Oh, lor', no, sir! [She goes out.]
Oh, that's the wedding-cake.
Oh, come—it isn't my wedding-cake.
[Laughing.] Oh, don't, you funny man! No, it's Mr. Paulover's.
Who the dev—
Hush!
Let's settle one thing at a time. Who is Paulover?
Dear Dinah's husband.
Dear Dinah?
Your niece—Dinah Rankling.
QUECKETT. Married?
Secretly. To Mr. Paulover. [Queckett puts his hand to his brow.]
Oh, that's old Paulover, is it?
YoungPaulover. They were married really three weeks ago, but without any breakfast—I don't mean a bacon breakfast, I mean a proper breakfast. But we girls think they ought to have a wedding-cake and everything complete to start them in life together: and that's why you're giving this party, you know.
Now, understand me, I will not be dragged into such a conspiracy!
But you're in it.
The Ranklings are acquaintances of mine, almost relatives; Admiral Rankling's cousin married the sister of the man who bought my brother's horses. [Rubbing his hands together.] I wash my hands of all you vexing girls.
Don't fret about it, please. Nothing can ever make Mrs. Paulover Miss Rankling again. I'll go and dress while you finish your letter.
[Impatiently.] Oh! [He resumes writing at the table.]
[Going to the door.] The girls will be here directly. Be nice, won't you? [She goes out. Jane enters with tarts and confectionery on dishes which she places on the table before Queckett.]
S'cuse me, sir. [Queckett rises with his letter and the inkstand, and goes impatiently over to the other side of the room, where he continues writing on the top of piano.]
They won't let me write to the Insurance Office. [Tyler enters with some boxes of bon-bons. The writing table being crowded Jane waves him over to the piano and goes out. Tyler puts the bon-bons on the top of the piano before Queckett, who snatches up his letter and the inkstand again and goes to the centre table.]
I will write to the Insurance Office. [Tyler goes out as Jane re-enters.]
[Presenting a bill.] The pastrycook's bill, sir.
Great Scot! [Diving his hand into his pocket, bringing out some loose money and giving it to Jane.] There! [Jane goes out.] I've written to the Insurance Office. [Sealing the letter.] My mind's easy—done my duty to poor Caroline. [He puts the letter in his breast pocket as Tyler enters.]
[More astonished than ever, announcing.] Miss Gwendoline Hawkins. [Gwendoline enters, dressed in a simple and pretty party-dress. Tyler goes out.]
[Bashfully, seeing nobody but Queckett.] Oh, I'm first; I shall come back again. [She is going.]
Come in—come in. How d'ye do. [Gwendoline advances. Queckett shakes hands with her.] Delighted to see you—so glad you've come—won't you sit down? [To himself with satisfaction.] Illustrations of Deportment and the Restrictions of Society—Vere Queckett. Carrie would be delighted. [Tyler re-enters, still more astonished.]
Miss Hermyntrude Johnson, and—and—and Mrs. Reginald Paulover!
This is a little too vexing! [Ermyntrude and Dinah enter, both prettily dressed—Dinah in white. Tyler goes out. Angrily.] How d'ye do—so glad you've come—won't you sit down?
We're very well, thank you.
Awfully well. [They sit, the three girls in a row. Dinah in the centre, Gwendoline and Ermyntrude taking her hands.]
[To himself.] Instructions in Polite Conversation. [Brusquely to Dinah.] How is Paulover?
I think he's very well, thank you.
[To himself.] Carrie would be pleased. [To the girls.] H'm! I suppose you young ladies distinctly understand that I occupy a painfully false position this evening?
I am sure it is very, very kind of you to give this party.
[To himself] Well, now, that's exceedingly appropriate, the way in which that is put. Carrie really does do her duty to the parents of these girls.
Peggy says you insist on our calling you Uncle.
Does she? [To himself]. Peggy is the one I've turned against.
We think you'll be an awfully jolly uncle.
[Pleased.] Thank ye—thank ye. [To himself.] I begin to like helping Carrie with the pupils. [Peggy enters. She is quaintly but untidily dressed in poor, much worn, and old-fashioned finery. In her hand she carries a pair of soiled, long white gloves.] Hallo! [Without speaking a word, Peggy hurries across the room and goes out.] What is the matter with that vexing girl now? [Peggy re-enters with Tyler, pushing him forward.]
[Announcing.] Miss Margaret Hesslerigge. [Peggy advances to Queckett, holding out her hand.]
How do you do?
[Savagely.] How d'ye do—delighted to see you—for goodness' sake, sit down! [He turns away to the fire. The three girls rise to greet Peggy.]
Dinah.
[Anxiously.'] I don't think it's nearly half-past nine yet.
[Rather proudly, produces a huge, old-fashioned watch.] Twenty to ten.
I thought it was. [Dinah, Gwendoline, and Ermyntrude run to one window, pull aside the blind, and look out. Peggy goes to the other window, pulls up the blind and opens the window.]
What are you doing?
I can just see him, under his lamp-post.
The fog will hurt him.
Hush! I told him we'd whistle twice.
Do it!
[Peggy makes two or three ineffectual attempts to whistle.] Girls, it's ominous—my whistle has left me. [To Queckett, taking his arm.] Come and whistle!
No—no.
[Leading Queckett to the open window.] Whistle, or you'll catch cold. [Queckett whistles twice, desperately, then returns to the fireplace, annoyed.] He's heard it. [She closes the window and pulls down the blind.] Now, listen. [To Gwendoline and Ermyntrude.] You two girls count five.
One.
Two.
Oh, how slowly you count!
Three.
Four.
[Clasping her hands.] Five! [There is a distant ring at the bell; with a little cry Dinah runs out. Peggy begins to put her gloves on. Ermyntrude and Gwendoline go to the door, open it, and listen.] [To Queckett.] Thank you for whistling. I shall never make a "Whistling woman," shall I?
A wide knowledge of humanity, in its highest and lowest grades, Miss Hesslerigge, does not enable me even to conjecture the possibilities of your future.
No compliments, please. Thank you. [She holds out her gloved hand for him to button the glove. After a look of astonishment he complies.] You know my idea about my future, don't you?
No.
That I only need one essential to become a Duchess.
What is that?
A Duke.
They're coming upstairs!
[To Queckett.] Now you'll see Mr. Paulover. Oh, I do hope he'll take to you!
Well, really, I'm—[He walks angrily away as Dinah enters with Reginald Paulover, a good-looking lad, rather sheepish when in repose, but fiery and demonstrative when out of temper. He is in evening dress, overcoat, and muffler, and wears a respirator, which he removes on entering.]
[Introducing the three girls.] Reggie, these are my three dear friends—Miss Hawkins—Miss Johnson—
[Bowing.] Awfully pleased to meet you.
And Miss Hesslerigge.
[Peggy advances and shakes hands with Reginald.]
Thank you very much for being so kind to—my wife.
[To Gwendoline, disappointed.] No whiskers or moustache! Oh!
[To Reginald.] Had you been waiting long?
Ten minutes. I was jolly glad to hear my wife's dear little whistle. I should know it from a thousand.
H'm! Dinah dear, make Mr. Paulover and Mr. Queckett known to each other. [Queckett comes forward with a disagreeable look. Reginald glares at him.]
[Timidly.] Reggie dear, this is Mr. Queckett. [Queckett bows stiffly. Reginald nods angrily.]
[To Dinah.] Dinah, what is a man doing here? You know I can't bear you to talk to a man.
Oh, Reggie, why are you always so jealous?
Mr. Queckett is giving the party.
What party?
Your wedding party.
Is he! [To Queckett, angrily.] I'm much obliged to Mr. Queckett.
[Pacifying Reginald.] Mr. Queckett is so nice—he calls himself Dinah's uncle.
Does he! Then it's a liberty—that's all I can say.
Do you know you're in my house, sir?
I'm not in your house, sir! Come away, Dinah!
Hush! Mr. Queckett is Miss Dyott's—
Be quiet—mind your own buiness.
[To Queckett.] At any rate it's my business sir.
I'm afraid you're a cub, sir.
What!
Oh, Reggie, don't! [A loud knock and ring are heard.]
[To Queckett.] Your friend.
Whose friend?
My friend.
Another man, I suppose—Dinah!
Ladies, do explain everything to Mr. Paulover. [Dinah seizes Reginald's arm. Gwendoline and Ermyntrude gather round them, Reginald protesting.]
[Handing his card as he passes Queckett.] My card, sir.
Pooh, sir! [Throwing the card in the fire. The three girls hurry Reginald out of the room.]
[To Queckett.] I'm so sorry—he hasn't taken to you.
He needn't trouble himself! Upon my soul, this is going to be a nice party!
[Tyler enters.]
Three gentlemen, sir: I was to say the name of Mallory.
Three gentlemen!
[Delighted, to Queckett.] Oh, he's brought some good fellows! [Reckoning on her fingers,] That's one for Ermyntrude—and one for me—and one for—
[To Peggy.] Be quiet. [To Tyler.] I'll come down.
[Outside.] Queckett!
Yes, Jack! [Jack Mallory enters. He is a good-looking, jovial fellow of about thirty-six, with a bronzed face. He is in evening dress and overcoat. Tyler goes out.]
[Shaking hands heartily with Queckett.] Ah, Queckett—dear old chap—well, I am glad to see you.
How are you, Jack?
Quaint diggings you have up here. The hanging committee have shied you, though, haven't they? [Seeing Peggy.] I beg your pardon.
[Confused.] Oh—ah—yes. I didn't mention it. I have my—my—nieces spending Christmas with me.
[Bowing to Peggy.] Delighted. [To Queckett.] Did you say niece or nieces?
Nieces. [Softly to Peggy, quickly.] How many? I forget.
[To Queckett.] Three.
Three.
Three, not counting me.
Three, not counting me. I mean three, not counting that vexing girl—Peggy—Margaret.
[Bowing.] It would be impossible not to count Miss—Margaret.
[Simpering.] Oh! [Queckett assists Mallory to take off his overcoat, first darting an angry look at Peggy.]
[To herself.] I shall give Gwendoline and Ermyntrude the two that are downstairs.
H'm! You're not alone, are you, Jack? Mallory. No—they're coming up.
[Grimly.] Are they?
The old gentleman takes his time with the stairs.
[With forced ease.] Poor old gentleman! Who the deuce—!
The fact is, there's been a big Navy dinner tonight at the Whitehall Rooms. The enthusiasm became rather forced—Britannia rules the waves, and all that sort of thing—so I gladly thought of finishing up with you. I've brought my nephew—hallo, here he is. [Mr. Saunders enters. He is a pretty boy, almost a child, in the uniform of a naval cadet.] My nephew—Horatio Nelson Drake Saunders, of the Training Ship "Dexterous."
[With the airs of a little man, but in a treble voice.] How do you do? Awfully pleased to come here.
Glad to see you, Mr. Saunders.
[Laughing, to Saunders.] I say, you shouldn't have left the old gentleman.
[Laughing.] He sent me up to count how many more stairs there were.
[Impatiently.] Jack, I don't put the question on theological grounds, but who is the old gentleman?
Oh, I beg your pardon—and his. We persuaded an old acquaintance of yours to join us—Admiral Rankling.
[Aghast.] What!
Do you mind?
Mind!
[Outside.'] Mr. Saunders!
Here, sir.
[Peggy makes a bolt out of the room. Saunders goes to the door, and returns with Rankling. Rankling is in evening dress, overcoat, and muffler, and is much out if breath.]
Ah, Mr. Queckett, how do you do? We haven't met anywhere lately; I've been away, you know.
I am delighted to renew our acquaintance, Admiral Rankling.
[Puffing.] Mr. Mallory suggested that we should smoke our last cigar at your lodgings. I can't stay, for I've a long distance to drive home. At least, I suppose I have, for I really don't know quite where we are. What quarter of London have you brought me to, Mr. Mallory? Oh, thank ye! [He turns to Saunders, who is offering to remove his overcoat. The door is slightly opened, and the heads of all the girls are seen.]
[Hastily to Mallory.] He doesn't know where he is!
The fog's as thick as a board outside.
He isn't aware he lives a hundred and fifty yards off!
No—does he?
Hush, don't tell him! Jack, don't tell him! I'll explain why by-and-by.
[Queckett turns to assist Saunders who, mounted on a chair, is struggling ineffectually to relieve Rankling of his overcoat.]
Thank ye—bits o' boys, bits o' boys.
[To himself.] There's a wild look about poor Queckett I don't like. It's his lonely bachelor life, I suppose. Curious place too—he used to be such a swell in the Albany. [Looking about him. The door shuts and the heads disappear.]
[To Queckett.] Thank ye—thank ye. [Panting.] Ouf! [Rankling sits down, and Mallory talks to him. Saunders has seated himself on the sofa and is dozing off, quite tired out.]
Oh, what a party! [The door opens, and Peggy's head appears.]
[Hurriedly to Queckett.] Who'd have thought of this?
It might be worse—he doesn't recognise the house he is in.
Doesn't he?
Get rid of his daughter and that horrid Paulover.
Certainly not; I know he won't recognise his daughter.
Won't recognise his own dau—you'll drive me mad! [They continue to talk in undertones. Saunders is now fast asleep.]
[To Mallory.] No—I don't like the look of poor Queckett.
He seems altered.
Altered—he glares like the devil. He's not married, is he?
No.
Then, what does he mean by it? Queer rooms too. [Catching sight of the wedding-cake on the table.] Lord, look there!
[Looking at the cake.] Hallo!
Why, it's like the thing we had at my wedding breakfast. Phew! I shall go.
No, no! The fact is poor old Queckett has some nieces staying with him.
Nieces?
Four of 'em. I've seen one, and I fancy by the look of her mischievous little face, that they're too much for him.
[To Queckett.] Leave everything to me. Don't spoil the party, Uncle.
Dash the party! [Peggy retiring hastily, the door bangs, at which Rankling and Mallory look round.]
Oh, Queckett, where are your nieces?
Nieces—nieces? Oh, they retire at eight o'clock. Early to bed, early to rise—[Gwendoline and Ermyntrude enter, visibly pushed on by Peggy.]
[Rising.] Um, this doesn't look like early to bed.
[Weakly.] Just got up, I suppose. Gwendoline—Ermyntrude—my dears—Admiral Rankling—Mr. Mallory—[Looking about for Saunders.] Mr.—Mr.—Oh, Mr. Saunders is asleep! [Ermyntrude and Gwendoline advance to Rankling.]
[To the girls.] How do you do? And whose daughters are you? [Gwendoline and Ermyntrude look frightened, and shake their heads.]
Oh, these are my sister Isabel's girls.
Why, all your sister Isabel's children were boys.
Were boys, yes.
[Irritably.] Are boys, sir.
Are men, now. H'm! I should have said these are my sister Janet's children.
Oh! I've never heard of your sister Janet.
No—quiet, retiring girl, Janet.
Well then, whom did Janet marry?
Whom didn't Janet marry? I mean, whom did Jane marry? Why, Finch Griffin of the Berkshire Royals!
Dear me, we're going to meet Major Griffin and his wife on Christmas Day at the Trotwells'.
Are you? [To Gwendoline and Ermyntrude.] Go away. [Peggy enters.] Oh—ahem! This is Margaret—Peggy.
Oh—another of Mrs. Griffin's.
Yes, yes!
Large family.
Rapid—two a year.
[Eyeing Peggy.] Why, we've met before to-day!
Eh—where?
At a miserable school near my house in Portland Place.
Oh, yes. Our holidays began this afternoon.
Why, Queckett, my daughter Dinah and Miss Griffin are school-fellows!
No!
Yes!
No!
Yes, sir.
How small the world is!
Do you happen to know anything about the person who keeps that school? What's the woman's name—Miss—Miss—?
Miss—Miss—Miss—
Miss Dyott. Oh, yes, Uncle knows her to speak to.
What about her, Queckett?
[Looking vindictively at Peggy.] Er—um—rather not hazard an opinion. [He hastily joins Mallory, Gwendoline, and Ermyntrude.]
[Confidentially to Peggy.] Er—um—my dear Miss Griffin, did you receive a short but ample apology from me this afternoon—addressed, "To the young lady who was shaken"?
Yes; and oh! I shall always prize it!
No, no, don't! You haven't bothered your Uncle about it, have you, dear?
No—not yet.
I shouldn't, then, I shouldn't. He seems worried enough. Shall I take you and your sisters to see the pantomime?
Yes—please.
Then you'd better give me back that apology.
Oh, no—you'd use it again.
One—two—three. Mr. Mallory says you have four nieces with you, Mr. Queckett.
Ah, but Jack's been dining, you know. I beg your pardon, Jack.
Oh, yes, there is one more. Mrs.—Mrs.—Parkinson is here with her husband.
H'm! my brother Tankerville's eldest girl.
I've never heard of your brother Tankerville!
No—he's Deputy Inspector of Prisons in British Guiana. Quiet, retiring chap.
I'll go and fetch them. [She runs out.]
[To Rankling.] To make a clean breast of it, the girls have been preparing a little festival to-night in honor of Mr. and Mrs.—Mr. and Mrs.—the name Peggy mentioned. My niece was married, very quietly, some weeks ago to a charming young fellow—a charming young fellow—and these foolish children insist on cutting a wedding-cake and all that sort of nonsense. I didn't want to disturb you with their chatter—
You forget, Queckett, you are speaking to a father.
No—I don't, indeed. [Peggy re-enters, followed by Reginald and Dinah.]
My cousin and Mr. Parkinson.
How do you—[Staring.] What an extraordinary likeness to my brother Ned! [Taking her hand slowly, still looking at her.] And how do you do?
[Palpitating.] Thank you, I am very well.
Do you know, your voice is exceedingly like my sister Rachel's!
[Thrusting himself between Dinah and Rankling.] I am sorry to differ—I think my wife resembles no one but herself.
[Hotly] I beg your pardon, sir.
[Hotly] Pray, don't.
[To himself] That's not a charming young fellow!
[Presenting Mallory to Dinah.] Mr. Mallory.
[Gallantly, to Dinah.] I am delighted to have the opportunity of congratulating my old friend's niece upon her recent marriage. [Taking her hand.] I think myself especially fortunate in being present on such—
[Thrusting himself between Dinah and Mallory, and giving Dinah his arm.] How do you do, sir?
Mr. Mallory—Mr. Parkinson. [They bow abruptly, glaring at each other.]
[To himself.] Is that a charming young fellow? [Dinah expostulates in undertones with Reginald; he answering with violent gestures and glaring at Rankling, who mutters comments on Dinah's resemblance to various members of his family. Peggy endeavours to pacify Mallory who is evidently annoyed, and altogether there is much hubbub, with signs of general ill-feeling.]
[Sinking back in his chair.] Oh, what a party! [Jane enters.]
[Quietly to Queckett.] The pudding is in the arey, sir, waiting to be paid.
I'll come to it. [Jane goes out. To Peggy.] Margaret, show Admiral Rankling and Mr. Mallory where the cigarettes are—they may like—[To himself] Years are going off my life! [He goes out.]
[To Mallory.] May I take you to the cigarettes?
[To Peggy.] You may take me anywhere.
[Bashfully.] Oh! [To Rankling.] The cigarettes are in the next room, Admiral Rankling.
[Not hearing Peggy, but still eyeing Dinah.] That girl has a look of Emma's sister Susan. [Peggy and Mallory go out. Reginald seeing Rankling is still looking at Dinah, abruptly takes her over to the door, glaring at Rankling as he passes.]
[To Dinah, fiercely.] Come away, Dinah!
[To Reginald, tearfully.] Oh, Reggie, dear Reggie, you are so different when people are not present. [They go out. Rankling watches them through the doorway. Gwendoline has meanwhile seated herself beside Saunders, whose head has gradually fallen till it rests upon her shoulder. She is now sitting quite still, looking down upon the boy's face.]
[Watching them enviously.] Well, considering that Mr. Saunders was introduced to us asleep, I don't think Gwendoline's behaviour iscoînme il faut![She bumps gently against Rankling.] Oh!
[Looking at Ermyntrude, rather dazed.] My dear, I am quite glad to see somebody who isn't like any of my relations. Come along. [They go out. Saunders moves dreamily and murmurs.]
[Waking.] All right, ma dear—I'll come down directly. [He raises his head and kisses Gwendoline, then opens his eyes, and looks at her, startled.] Oh, I've been dreaming about my ma! I—I don't know you, do I?
It doesn't matter, Mr. Saunders. You've had such a good sleep. [She kisses his forehead gently.]
Oh, that's just like my ma! Where are the others?
[Arranging his curls upon his forehead.] I'll take you to them.
Thank you. What's your name?
Gwendoline.
Gwen's short for that, isn't it? [Rubbing his eyes with his fists, then offering her his arm.] Permit me, Gwen. [They go out. Queckett, his hair disarranged, his appearance generally wild, immediately enters, followed by Jane and Tyler.]
I can't help it! I am in the hands of fate. Arrange the table. I cannot help it! [Tyler and Jane proceed to arrange the table and the seats for supper. Peggy enters quietly.]
It is supper time. Oh, what's the matter, Uncle Vere?
Well, in the first place, there are no oysters.
I've seen them!
I've gone further—I've tasted them.
Bad!
Well, I should describe them as Inland oysters. A long time since they had a fortnight at the seaside.
Oh, dear! Then we must fall back on the lark pudding.
You'll injure yourself seriously if you do.
Tell me everything. It has not come small?
It has come ridiculously small.
It was ordered for eight persons.
Then it is architecturally disproportionate.
[To herself.] Something must be done. [She runs to the writing-table and begins to write rapidly on three half sheets of paper, folding each into a three-cornered note as she finishes it.] The girls must be warned. [Writing.] "For goodness' sake, don't taste the pudding." Poor girls—what an end to a happy day! [To himself.] Oh, if the members of my family could see me at this moment! I, whose suppers in the Albany were at one time a proverb! Oh, Caroline, Caroline, even you little know the sacrifice I have made for you!
[To Queckett, handing him the notes.] Quick, please, quick—give them these notes.
[Taking the notes.] What for?
Oh, don't ask; you will see the result.