[LADY MACPHAIL joins SIR JULIAN, the DOWAGER, and LADY EUPHEMIA, while they all watch MACPHAIL as he approaches IMOGEN.]

LADY MACPHAIL.

Listen!

MACPHAIL.

[To IMOGEN.] Er--I'm very much obliged to ye.

LADY MACPHAIL.

Bravely spoken!

DOWAGER.

A grand nature!

IMOGEN.

Thank you, Sir Colin. [She joins the others.]

MRS. GAYl.u.s.tRE.

[To MACPHAIL, seizing his hand.] May your life be very, very blissful!

MACPHAIL.

[Uneasily, withdrawing his hand.] Mother's looking. [He joins the rest.]

MRS. GAYl.u.s.tRE.

[To herself.] They've hooked my Scotch salmon; but they haven't landed him yet! [Intercepting LADY TWOMBLEY as she advances towards the group.]

Kate!

LADY TWOMBLEY.

Reptile!

MRS. GAYl.u.s.tRE.

I'm not at all satisfied with the way things are going on here.

LADY TWOMBLEY.

Aren't you? I think things are beautifully smooth.

MRS. GAYl.u.s.tRE.

I'm pretty comfortable at Drumdurris myself, thank you; but I'm getting extremely anxious about Joseph.

LADY TWOMBLEY.

So am I.

MRS. GAYl.u.s.tRE.

I'm afraid Joseph isn't enjoying his little holiday at all. Did you observe him at dinner last night?

LADY TWOMBLEY.

Who could help it? The man eats enough for six.

MRS. GAYl.u.s.tRE.

He's obliged to, his holiday being so brief. But these fine folks treat him as contemptuously as if he were a snail in a cabbage.

LADY TWOMBLEY.

Then why does he talk with the leg of a grouse sticking out of the side of his mouth? Why does he drink people's health across the table and call the men-servants "old chaps?"

MRS. GAYl.u.s.tRE.

Dear Jo! There's nothing cla.s.sy about him.

[DRUMDURRIS, in shooting dress, enters, carrying a light wooden box.]

LADY TWOMBLEY.

Why does he swallow his knife and build pyramids with his bread; and tell long stories with no meaning at all or else with two?

MRS. GAYl.u.s.tRE.

Well, you must take Jo as Heaven made him. So you'd better make things smooth for him with Lord Drumdurris. If not----

LADY TWOMBLEY.

If not?

MRS. GAYl.u.s.tRE.

If not, Jo might, after all, decline to renew.

LADY TWOMBLEY.

Oh!

MRS. GAYl.u.s.tRE.

And then there would be the devil to pay, wouldn't there?