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MRS. GAYl.u.s.tRE.
[To herself.] Haughty wretch!
SIR JULIAN TWOMBLEY.
Mrs. Gayl.u.s.tre!
MRS. GAYl.u.s.tRE.
Oh, Sir Julian, don't, don't stop!
SIR JULIAN TWOMBLEY.
I thought I was alone with Lady Euphemia.
MRS. GAYl.u.s.tRE.
I am waiting to see dear Lady Twombley. Oh, do permit me to hear that sweet instrument!
SIR JULIAN TWOMBLEY.
Pray sit down!
[SIR JULIAN resumes his seat and plays a plaintive melody. MRS.
GAYl.u.s.tRE listens in a rapt att.i.tude.]
LADY EUPHEMIA VIBART.
[To BROOKE.] That person is _too_ odious to me.
BROOKE TWOMBLEY.
Several people have taken her up.
LADY EUPHEMIA VIBART.
Somehow, being taken up is what she suggests.
BROOKE TWOMBLEY.
She seems a sort of society mermaid--half a lady and half a milliner--what? Only it bothers you to know where the one leaves off and the other begins. Who is she?
LADY EUPHEMIA VIBART.
In prehistoric days she was a Miss Lebanon. Lord Bulpitt's son, Percy Gayl.u.s.tre, met her at Nice--or somewhere.
BROOKE TWOMBLEY.
Oh, yes, and he married her--or something.
LADY EUPHEMIA VIBART.
Yes, and now she's a widow--or something.
BROOKE TWOMBLEY.
Why does the Mater encourage her?
LADY EUPHEMIA VIBART.
Because Aunt Kate is _too_ good-hearted and impressionable. But, as a rule, I think Mrs. Gayl.u.s.tre makes a considerable reduction to those who ask her to their parties. [MRS. GAYl.u.s.tRE is bending over SIR JULIAN and turning his music.] Look!
[PROBYN appears at the entrance.]
PROBYN.
Here's Sir Julian, my lady.
BROOKE TWOMBLEY.
Hullo, Mater!
[LADY TWOMBLEY, a handsome, bright, good-humoured woman, dressed magnificently in Court dress, enters. PROBYN retires, and SIR JULIAN stops playing.]
LADY TWOMBLEY.
[Kissing BROOKE.] Well, Brooke, darling, have you wanted your mother?
[Kissing LADY EUPHEMIA.] Effie, how sweet you look! what a dream of a bonnet! [Nods to MRS. GAYl.u.s.tRE.] How d'ye do, Mrs. Gayl.u.s.tre? Why, pa!
[She bends over him and kisses him.] You're worried--you've been playing your whistle.
SIR JULIAN TWOMBLEY.
Flute, Katherine.
LADY TWOMBLEY.
I mean flute. It was my brother Bob who always played a whistle when the crops were poor or the lambs fell sickly.
SIR JULIAN TWOMBLEY.
I had not the advantage of your brother Robert's acquaintance.
LADY TWOMBLEY.
Where's Imogen? Imogen!
IMOGEN.
