Miss Andrews. Lydy Amaranth, me lady.

Yardsley. And please be consistent with your dialect. If it's Lydy Amaranth, it's Lydy Ellen.

Miss Andrews. Lydy Amaranth, me lydy.

Mrs. Perkins. What? Lydy Amaranth? She?

Yardsley. Oh dear! Excuse me, Mrs. Perkins, but you are not the maid, and c.o.c.kney isn't required of you. You must not say lydy.

Lady is--

Mrs. Perkins (resignedly). What? Lady Amaranth? She? What can she want? Show her up. [Exit Miss Andrews.

Perkins. That's a first-cla.s.s expression for an adventuress. _Show her up_! Gad! She ought to be shown up.

Mrs. Perkins. What can she want?

Enter Mrs. Bradley.

Mrs. Bradley. Ah, my dear Lady Ellen! What delight to find you at home! (Aside.) He is not here, and yet I could have sworn--

Mrs. Perkins. To what am I to attribute this pleasure, Lady Amaranth? I do not presume to think that you have come here without some other motive than that of a mere desire to see me. I do not suppose that even you pretend that since the contretemps of Tuesday night at the d.u.c.h.ess of Barncastle's our former feeling--

Mrs. Bradley. Ellen, I have come to tell you something. To save you from a vile conspiracy.

Mrs. Perkins. I am quite well able, Lady Amaranth, to manage my own affairs--

Mrs. Bradley. But you do not know. You love Lord Muddleton--

Mrs. Perkins (toying with her fan). Oh! Indeed! And who, pray, has taken you into my confidence? I was not aware--

Mrs. Bradley. Hear me, Ellen--

Mrs. Perkins. Excuse me, Lady Amaranth! but you have forgotten that it is only to my friends that I am known as--

Mrs. Bradley. Then Lady Ellen, if it must be so. I know what you do not--that Henry Cobb is an escaped convent--

Yardsley. Convict, not convent.

Mrs. Bradley. Is an escaped convict, and--

Mrs. Perkins. I am not interested in Henry Cobb.

Mrs. Bradley. But he is in you, Ellen Abercrombie. He is in you, and with the aid of Fenderson Featherhead--

[Bell. Perkins lets curtain drop half-way, but remembers in time, and pulls it up again.

Perkins. Beg pardon. String slipped.

Mrs. Bradley. Too late. Oh, if he had only waited!

Enter Miss Andrews.

Miss Andrews. Mr. Featherhead, Leddy Eilen.

Yardsley. Ellen, Ellen; and lydy, not leddy.

Mrs. Bradley. Hear me first, I beg.

Mrs. Perkins. Show him in, Mary. Lady Amaranth, as you see, I am engaged. I really must be excused. Good-night.

Mrs. Bradley (aside). Foiled! Muddleton will be exposed. Ah, if I could only have broken the force of the blow! (Aloud.) Lady Ellen, I will speak. Fenderson Featherhead--

Enter Bradley and Barlow together. Both. Is here, Lady Amaranth.

[Each tries to motion the other off the stage.

Yardsley. What the deuce does this mean? What do you think this play is--an Uncle Tom combination with two Topsys?

Barlow. I told him to keep out, but he said that Fenderson Featherhead was his cue.

Bradley (indignantly). Well, so it is; there's the book.

Yardsley. Oh, nonsense, Brad! Don't be idiotic. The book doesn't say anything of the sort.

Bradley. But I say it does. If you--

Barlow. It's all rot for you to behave like this, Bradley.

Perkins. Isn't it time something happened to the curtain? The audience will get panicky if they witness any such lack of harmony as this. I will draw a veil over the painful scene. B-r-r-r-r. (Drops curtain.) B-r-r-r-r.

[Raises it again.

Yardsley. We won't dispute the matter, Bradley. You are wrong, and that's all there is about it. Now do get off the stage and let us go ahead. Perkins, for Heaven's sake, give that curtain a rest, will you?

Perkins. I was only having a dress-rehearsal on my own account, Bob.

Bike bell, curtain. Push bell, front door. Trolley gong, nothing--

Bradley. Well, if you fellows won't--

Yardsley (taking him by the arm and walking him to side of stage).

Never mind, Brad; you've made a mistake, that's all. We all make mistakes at times. Get off, like a good fellow. You don't come on for ten minutes yet. (Exit Bradley, scratching his head in puzzled meditation.) Go ahead now, Barlow.

Mrs. Bradley. But, Mr. Yardsley, Edward has--

Yardsley. We'll begin with your cue.

Mrs. Bradley. Fenderson Featherhead--

Barlow. Is here, Lady Amaranth.