MRS. TIMBRELL. You’re a humbug.
LEONARD. I suppose I am. But I’m your son all the same. You can’t be less than a mother because I’ve got a bit of humbug about me. I wonder if I should do better to sell it out and out to a jeweller. You don’t mind, mother?
MRS. TIMBRELL. You couldn’t redeem it. You couldn’t give it me back.
LEONARD. Do you want it back?
MRS. TIMBRELL. I thought it might be a sacred joy to give it back to me.
LEONARD. Good. Very good. You’re a damned fine woman, you know. Isn’t she, Mary? I suppose a lot of mothers do the kind of things that she does for their sons but she does them lightly. She can be witty over it.
MRS. TIMBRELL. Good-bye, Mary. I’ll come again soon.
MARY. Good-bye. [MRS. TIMBRELL goes. LEONARD goes out with her for a moment and returns. He capers up to MARY, seizes her waist and waltzes her round. She yields and laughs for a moment, then stiffens and struggles.]
MARY. Hark! There’s little Leonard.
LEONARD. Bother little Leonard!