[She leads the way, and the others follow, the TALKER coming last and murmuring "Cider" to himself.]
MOTHER. Master Johannes. (He turns round.) A word with you, if you please, sir.
TALKER. But certainly, Madame. The cider will be all the better for the expectation.
MOTHER. Sit down, please. (He does so.) Master Johannes, who are you, all of you?
TALKER. I thought I had explained, Madame. Her Royal Sweetness Princess Carissima, His Flutiness the Duke of Bogota, and myself a humble Marquis. We may be referred to collectively as the Red Feathers. For myself I am sometimes called Silent John, being of a close disposition.
MOTHER. Whatever you are called, you are, I think, a man of the world, and you will understand that if I am to trust my daughter to you, for however little a time, I must know something more about you.
TALKER. Madame, I will make a confession to you, a confession I have never yet made to man, woman, or child. I am forty-six years of age; it is, in fact, my birthday. Were I to begin to tell you something about myself, starting from that day, forty-six years ago, when I was born—were I to begin—well, Madame, I am only too ready to begin. It is a subject I find vastly pleasant. But, (looking at her comically) shall I begin?
MOTHER (with a smile). Would you make it so long a story, sir?
TALKER (with a sigh). The tongue is an unruly member, and to one who has but three notes on the pipe, and yet desires to express himself, talking is a great comfort.
MOTHER. I said you were a man of the world, sir. May I say now that I think you must be a man of our world?