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DOWAGER.
[To PROBYN.] Lady Twombley will see Sir Colin and Lady Macphail here.
[PROBYN goes out.]
SIR JULIAN TWOMBLEY.
Ah! then, if you'll allow me----
DOWAGER.
No, Julian. This is another family matter.
SIR JULIAN TWOMBLEY.
Another!
DOWAGER.
These people have called to formally propose for the hand of Imogen.
LADY TWOMBLEY.
To propose!
DOWAGER.
Last night, at the ball of the Perth Highlanders, I danced the Strathspey and Reel with Sir Colin. In the excitement I wrung from him an admission of his affection.
LADY TWOMBLEY.
Pa, what shall we do?
DOWAGER.
Do? The head of the Clan Macphail! Eighty thousand acres! Julian?
LADY TWOMBLEY.
[To herself.] If it would provide for Imogen before the smas.h.!.+
DOWAGER.
If Imogen is a high-minded girl she will be mad with delight.
LADY TWOMBLEY.
Will she? [To herself.] Ah! and will she learn to look down on pa and me when we're aged paupers?
[PROBYN enters.]
PROBYN.
Sir Colin Macphail--Lady Macphail.
[LADY MACPHAIL enters, dressed simply and quaintly in an old-fas.h.i.+oned silk gown, followed closely by MACPHAIL, whose clothes are capacious and clumsy, and who seems very ill at ease. PROBYN withdraws.]
DOWAGER.
Dear Lady Macphail--Sir Colin!
LADY TWOMBLEY.
[Shaking hands with LADY MACPHAIL and MACPHAIL.] How do you do? [Eyeing MACPHAIL.] Oh, dear!
SIR JULIAN TWOMBLEY.
[Shaking hands.] Delighted.
LADY TWOMBLEY.
[To MACPHAIL.] Pray sit down. You must be fatigued with last night's dance.
LADY MACPHAIL.
No Macphail is ever fatigued. But the poor lad feels like a caged eagle in the dress of the South.
LADY TWOMBLEY.
I am sure it is--most becoming.
LADY MACPHAIL.
Sit, lad. [MACPHAIL sits, hitching up his trousers unhappily.] You know the object of our visit, Sir Julian?
SIR JULIAN TWOMBLEY.
Lady Drumdurris has hinted----
LADY MACPHAIL.
The boy is here to pour out the pa.s.sionate torrent of his love for your child Imogen. Speak, Colin.
[MACPHAIL rouses himself, rises, and looks round.]
MACPHAIL.
Mother, you do it. [He resumes his seat.]
LADY MACPHAIL.
