Interlude Seventh.
THIRTEEN.
THIRTEEN.
[The drawing-room of Mr. Sylvanus Potts Thompson, banker. Mr. Thompson and his wife, with ten guests, making a neat round dozen in all, are waiting the announcement of dinner. Enter Mr. Sylvanus Potts, a wealthy uncle from the country.]
Mr. Potts. I told the man there was no need to announce me; you knew I was coming next week, and a few days don’t matter. How do you do, nephew? how do you do, Jane?
Mr. Thompson. Why, uncle, we did not expect you so soon, but we are always glad to see you, of course.