[BROOKE, DRUMDURRIS, and VALENTINE go out.]

MRS. GAYl.u.s.tRE.

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

LADY TWOMBLEY.

Ah--h--h--h!

MRS. GAYl.u.s.tRE.

Hullo! What's the matter?

LADY TWOMBLEY.

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

MRS. GAYl.u.s.tRE.

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. GAYl.u.s.tRE.

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, Gayl.u.s.tre, I shan't be able to meet it.

MRS. GAYl.u.s.tRE.

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

LADY TWOMBLEY.

Think of 'em! I eat them--they're on every _menu_; I drink them--they label the champagne. My pillows are stuffed with them, for I hear their rustle when I turn my restless head. Small as those strips of blue are, they paper every wall of my home!

MRS. GAYl.u.s.tRE.

I should drive out, then, as much as possible.

LADY TWOMBLEY.

When I do the sky is blue!

MRS. GAYl.u.s.tRE.

[Carelessly taking up a newspaper.] At what time do we leave here?

LADY TWOMBLEY.

Sir Julian and I start at twelve.

MRS. GAYl.u.s.tRE.

See that I'm not squeezed up in the carriage. I don't play at sardines in this gown.

LADY TWOMBLEY.

Oh!

MRS. GAYl.u.s.tRE.

Talking of sardines, I shall lunch here to-day, _en famille_.

LADY TWOMBLEY.

Gayl.u.s.tre! you fiend! I--I can't stand it.

MRS. GAYl.u.s.tRE.

Don't quite see how you're going to get out of it.

LADY TWOMBLEY.

It's true I owe that brother of yours thousands.

MRS. GAYl.u.s.tRE.

Well, we _have_ kept your establishment going for some time.

LADY TWOMBLEY.

But I don't owe _you_ as much as a linen b.u.t.ton!

MRS. GAYl.u.s.tRE.

Jo and I are one.

LADY TWOMBLEY.

No! I'll never believe that a man--even a money-lender--would dance a set of devilish quadrilles on a lady when she's down, as you're doing.

MRS. GAYl.u.s.tRE.