RONNY. Then why did Iris write to me as if it was? “Dear Ronny, do come and spend a few days with us.—Yours sincerely, Iris Chillingham.” How’s that, eh?
NORAH (patiently). It is Mr. Chillingham’s house, but Mrs. Chillingham has been away for a few weeks. So Iris is playing hostess. I happened to mention that I had a disreputable little boy-cousin called Ronald Derwent, and she very kindly——
RONNY. Not so much of it, Norah. I knew Iris before you did, and I knew Jack as soon as you did. And if it’s old man Chillingham’s house, all I can say is that old man Chillingham has got a pretty taste in claret.
NORAH. Really, Ronny, to hear you talk about claret, anybody would think that you were grown up. Whereas we all know what you do with your threepence a week every Saturday. Pear-drops, my lad, pear-drops.
RONNY (grimly). Very well, Norah, you’ve done for yourself.
(He seizes a cushion and advances upon her. She jumps out of the chair and runs to the other side of the hall, picking up a cushion on the way.)
NORAH. You’ll get your hair ruffled if you aren’t careful.
RONNY. You’ll be lucky if you have any hair left by [49]the time I’ve finished with you. (He hurls a cushion at her.)
NORAH. Oh, rotten shot!
(He goes to the sofa to get more cushions, and dodges behind it as she flings hers at him. They are interrupted by BENHAM, who is crossing the hall with whisky and papers for SIR ROGER.)