Mary Broome: A Comedy, in Four Acts

by Allan Monkhouse

LEONARD. Fire away.

MRS. GREAVES. I must tell you, perfectly frank, that there’s been some talk about you. I know that lady that comes here to see you is your mother and that I don’t understand. But I’ve heard tell of carryings on with a housemaid and it is said as you’re not married. I know mothers ’ll do a good deal for their sons but I must say—

LEONARD. Who says this?

MRS. GREAVES. It’s not only one. There’s Mr. Whales, the milkman, and he does a good round and hears a lot—

LEONARD. We shall have no more dealings with Mr. Whales.

MRS. GREAVES. You wouldn’t, anyhow, till he got paid.

MARY. No more milk?

MRS. GREAVES. No, and it’s not only milk.

LEONARD. Mrs. Greaves, this lady is my wife and anyone who says she isn’t is telling an abominable lie. I’m surprised that you should listen to such stuff.

MRS. GREAVES. Of course I know she’s got on a ring and all that but that’s what they do and I can’t afford to be out of my money; I really can’t. I don’t want to be hard but my account must be settled.