Don't think you're neglected, child. I cannot provide for everybody at once.

LADY EUPHEMIA VIBART.

No, mamma.

DOWAGER.

But having completely settled Imogen, I shall commence the adjustment of your future after lunch.

[LADY MACPHAIL enters.]

LADY MACPHAIL.

Ah!

DOWAGER.

Dear Lady Macphail! What glorious news!

LADY MACPHAIL.

[Rapturously, with her hand upraised.] Now let the worn banner of the Macphail be run up on the crumbling tower of Castle Ballocheevin!

DOWAGER.

Certainly--by all means.

LADY MACPHAIL.

Now let the roar of the pipes startle the eaglets on the summit of black Ben-Muchty!

DOWAGER.

I hope such arrangements will be made.

LADY MACPHAIL.

Let the shriek of the wild birds resound on the sh.o.r.es of Loch-na-Doich!

DOWAGER.

[Bringing IMOGEN forward.] But you haven't seen Imogen yet.

LADY MACPHAIL.

[Embracing her.] Child! Ah, when Colin learns your answer to his suit you shall listen to such words as none but a Macphail can utter to his betrothed.

DOWAGER.

Doesn't he know?

LADY MACPHAIL.

Not yet. He went out early to watch the sun gild the gray peak of Ben-Auchter.

[LADY TWOMBLEY enters, looking very troubled.]

IMOGEN.

Mamma. [LADY MACPHAIL, the DOWAGER, and LADY EUPHEMIA talk together.]

Mamma, everybody has congratulated me. Have you nothing to say?

[LADY TWOMBLEY places her hand fondly on IMOGEN's head.]

LADY TWOMBLEY.

[In a sepulchral voice.] Did Phipps dry your head thoroughly last night?

IMOGEN.

Yes, mamma.

LADY TWOMBLEY.

Then all's well, I suppose. [SIR JULIAN'S flute is heard. To herself.]

The first Bill--the first Bill due next week.

[She sits staring at the fire as SIR JULIAN enters, playing the flute.]

IMOGEN.

Papa.

SIR JULIAN TWOMBLEY.

Imogen, my dear, amidst severe official worries I must not omit to join in the general paean of rejoicing.

IMOGEN.

Thank you, papa.

SIR JULIAN TWOMBLEY.

Sir Colin may lack that inexhaustible flow of anecdote with which I have often been credited.

IMOGEN.

He may, papa.