MRS. GAYl.u.s.tRE.
How very charming! Lady Twombley"s latest fad, the Algerian conservatory. And there was a time when a sprig of geranium on the window-sill would have contented her. [Looking at a photograph of LADY TWOMBLEY upon the table.] There she is--Kitty Twombley. In one of my gowns too. Kitty Twombley, once Kitty White, the daughter of a poor farmer down in Cleverton. Ah, when young Mr. Julian Twombley came canva.s.sing Farmer White"s vote he found you innocently scrubbing the bricks, I suppose! And now! [With a courtesy.] Lady Twombley, wife of a Cabinet Minister and Patroness Extraordinary of that deserving young widow, f.a.n.n.y Gayl.u.s.tre! [She sits surveying the portraits upon the table.] Ha, ha! I"ll turn you all to account some fine day. Why shouldn"t I finish as well as the dairy-fed daughter of a Devonshire yokel? What on earth is wrong with my bonnet? [She puts her hand up behind her head and finds LADY TWOMBLEY"s letter which BROOKE had left on the back of the chair.] Lady Twombley"s writing. [Reading.] "My sweet child. For heaven"s sake let me have your skeddle----" [She sits up suddenly and devours the contents of the letter.] Oh! [Reading aloud.]
"I"m desperately short of money! Things are as blue as old Stilton! If your pa finds out----!" My word!
BROOKE TWOMBLEY.
[Heard speaking outside.] My dear Valentine, why shouldn"t you come in--what?
[MRS. GAYl.u.s.tRE creeps round in front of the table and disappears with the letter in her hand as BROOKE enters, dragging in VALENTINE WHITE, a roughly-dressed, handsome young fellow of about six-and-twenty, bronzed and bearded.]
VALENTINE WHITE.
Now, Brooke, you know I cut away from England years ago because I couldn"t endure ceremony of any kind.
BROOKE TWOMBLEY.
I"m not treating you with ceremony--what!
VALENTINE WHITE.
[Looking about him.] Phew! the atmosphere"s charged with it. That fellow with his hair powdered nearly sent me running down the street like a mad dog.
BROOKE TWOMBLEY.
Where the deuce have you been for the last six or eight years?
VALENTINE WHITE.
Where? Oh, buy a geography; call it, "Explorations of Valentine White in Search of Freedom," and there you have it.
BROOKE TWOMBLEY.
Freedom!
VALENTINE WHITE.
Blessed freedom from forms, shams, and ceremonies of all sorts and descriptions.
BROOKE TWOMBLEY.
Why, you left us for South Africa. Didn"t South Africa satisfy you?
VALENTINE WHITE.
Satisfy me! I joined the expedition to Bangwaketsi. What were the consequences?
BROOKE TWOMBLEY.
Fever?
VALENTINE WHITE.
Worse. There"s no ceremony about fever. No, Brooke, I was snubbed by a major in the Kalahari Desert, because I didn"t dress for dinner.
BROOKE TWOMBLEY.
Then we heard of you herding filthy cattle in Mexico.
VALENTINE WHITE.
Yes, at Durango. I enjoyed that, till some younger sons of the n.o.bility came out and left cards at my hut. I afterwards drove a railway engine in Bolivia.
BROOKE TWOMBLEY.
By Jove, how awful--what! Wasn"t that sufficiently beastly rough?
VALENTINE WHITE.
My dear fellow, would you believe it--I got hold of a stoker who was a decayed British baronet! The affected way in which that man shovelled on coals was unendurable. So I"ve come back, hopelessly wise.
BROOKE TWOMBLEY.
Serve you right for kicking at refinement and good form and all that sort of thing. What!
VALENTINE WHITE.
[Mimicking BROOKE.] Varnish, and veneer, and all that sort of thing--what!
BROOKE TWOMBLEY.
Oh, confound you! Well, you"ll dine here at a quarter to eight, Val, won"t you?
VALENTINE WHITE.
Dine in Chesterfield Gardens! Thirteen courses and eight wines! Heaven forgive you, Brooke.
BROOKE TWOMBLEY.
Look here, you shall eat on the floor with a wooden spoon.
VALENTINE WHITE.
Thank you--even your floors are too highly polished. Tell Aunt Kitty and little Imogen that I shall walk in Kensington Gardens to-morrow morning at ten.
BROOKE TWOMBLEY.
Little Imogen! Haw, haw!