[Holding out her hand to him.] Colin.

MACPHAIL.

I'm thinking mother will be wondering----

MRS. GAYl.u.s.tRE.

[To herself.] Drat your moth---- [To MACPHAIL.] Never mind dear Lady Macphail for a moment. Colin, since you have discovered my love for you I will make no further reservation----

MACPHAIL.

But mother----

MRS. GAYl.u.s.tRE.

[Under her breath.] Drat your---- [To MACPHAIL.] Colin, I will be to you the wife you have described.

MACPHAIL.

I'm extremely obliged to ye--but----

MRS. GAYl.u.s.tRE.

Hush, bold boy! [She gives him a card.]

MRS. GAYl.u.s.tRE.

You know my cruel brother takes me back to town to-morrow. Here is my address so that you may write to me constantly, devotedly.

MACPHAIL.

[Reading the card.] "Mauricette & Cie., Court Dressmakers----"

MRS. GAYl.u.s.tRE.

[s.n.a.t.c.hing the card from him.] That's a wrong 'un--I mean, that's a mistake. [Giving another.] There. Hide it away, dear one--nearest your heart.

[He slips it into his stocking.]

MACPHAIL.

Oh!

MRS. GAYl.u.s.tRE.

And now, as I start in the morning at nine-forty-five, sharp, on the tick, we must say farewell. Oh, this parting is too cruel. Colin!

[She falls against him.]

MACPHAIL.

Here's my mother! [He throws her off.]

MRS. GAYl.u.s.tRE.

[Under her breath.] Drat your mother!

[LADY MACPHAIL enters.]

LADY MACPHAIL.

Madam. [To MACPHAIL.] Why do you leave the ball-room, my lad?

MACPHAIL.

I've been just watching the moonlight on Loch Auchentoshan.

LADY MACPHAIL.

I am proud to see this devotion to Loch Auchentoshan, but to-night you have other duties almost equally important. After this paltry waltz we lose ourselves in the wild pleasures of our native dance.

MACPHAIL.

The Strathspey? [He takes MRS. GAYl.u.s.tRE'S card from his stocking.] Oh!

[Hides it and produces his ball-programme from his other stocking.] The Strathspey.

LADY MACPHAIL.

Come, lad. They have yet to see the Macphail lead the Strathspey with his betrothed.

[They go out together.]

MRS. GAYl.u.s.tRE.

Yes, and they shall ultimately see the Macphail writing love-letters to f.a.n.n.y--love-letters with a promise of marriage in 'em. I'll consult a solicitor directly I reach town and be ready to marry or to sue him. Oh, f.a.n.n.y, f.a.n.n.y, ungrateful girl, what a lot you have to be thankful for!

[She runs out and ANGeLE peeps in.]

ANGeLE.

Milord! Miladi! [She enters.] I must find miladi! Miladi!

[LADY TWOMBLEY enters.]

LADY TWOMBLEY.

No news from Reeves & Shuckleback, the Stockbrokers. The waiting for it will finish me!