NANCY. It doesn’t matter very much, Jim, does it? And I expect we shall get used to him.
BROXOPP. I don’t know why we ever had the fellow—except that Master Jack thought it went better with Eton and Oxford. Eton and Oxford—was that your idea or mine?
NANCY. Yours, dear.
BROXOPP. Oh! Well, the only thing they taught him there was that his father’s tie was the wrong shape.
NANCY (carried back as she looks up at the picture). There never was a better baby than Jack.
BROXOPP (looking at the picture too). Yes, he used to like my tie in those days. He was never so happy as when he was playing with it. Funny how they change when they grow up. (Looking at his watch) What are you doing this morning?
NANCY (getting up). All right, darling. I’m going. I know you like being alone for interviews.
BROXOPP (going to the door with her). But you must come in, Nancy, at the end. That went well last time. (Quoting) “Ah,” said Mr. Broxopp, as a middle-aged but still beautiful woman glided into the room, “here is my wife. My wife,” he went on, with a tender glance at the still beautiful woman, “to whom I owe all my success.” As he said these words——
[23]NANCY. Oh, I expect this one won’t write that sort of rubbish.
BROXOPP (indignantly). Rubbish? I don’t call that rubbish.