JOHN ( lightly ). Nothing. I thought editor and contributor—
HILDEGARDE. Oh! I see.
JOHN ( stopping at door, and turning round ). Do you mean to say your uncles won't be frightfully angry at Mr. Sampson Straight's articles? Why, dash it, when he's talking about traffic in honours, if he doesn't mean them who does he mean?
TRANTO. My dear friend, stuff like that's meat and drink to my uncles. They put it down like chocolates.
JOHN. Well my deliberate opinion is—it's a jolly strange world. ( Exit quickly, back) .
TRANTO ( looking at Hildegarde). So it is. Philosopher, John! Questions rather pointed perhaps; but result in the discovery of new truths. By the way, have I come too early?
HILDEGARDE ( archly) . How could you? But father's controlling the country half an hour more than usual this evening, and I expect mamma was so angry about it she forgot to telephone you that dinner's moved accordingly. ( With piquancy and humour .) I was rather surprised to hear when I got home from my Ministry that you'd sent word you'd like to dine to-night.
TRANTO. Were you? Why?
HILDEGARDE. Because last week when mamma asked you for to-night, you said you had another engagement.
TRANTO. Oh! I'd forgotten I'd told her that. Still, I really had another engagement.