NANCY. The nail-brush?
BROXOPP. Yes, you told me the other day to buy a nail-brush. (Looking at his fingers) You were quite right. As you said, a gentleman is known by his hands. I hadn’t thought of it before. Always tell me, darling. Well, I went into a chemist’s. Fordyce had given me fifteen guineas. I had the odd shillings in my pocket and I suddenly remembered. There was a very nice gentlemanly young fellow behind the counter, and as sometimes happens on these occasions, I got into conversation with him.
NANCY (smiling to herself). Yes, darling.
BROXOPP. I told him something of my outlook on life. I spoke of the lack of imagination which is the curse of this country, instancing the man Spenlow as an example of the type with whom we artists had to [13]deal. He interrupted me to say that he had found it so, too. A patent food which he had composed in his leisure moments—I broke in hastily. “Tell me of your food,” I said. “Perhaps,” and I smote my breast, “perhaps I am the capitalist for whom you look.”
NANCY. The five hundred pounds!
BROXOPP. The five hundred pounds. The nest-egg which I had been keeping for just such a moment. In a flash I saw that the moment had come.
NANCY (a little frightened). Then we shall never have that five hundred pounds behind us again.
BROXOPP. But think of the thousands we shall have in front of us! Millions!
NANCY. We seemed so safe with that in the bank. My little inheritance. No, darling, I’m not disagreeing. I know you’re quite right. But I’m just a little frightened. You see, I’m not so brave as you.
BROXOPP. But you will be brave with me? You believe in me?