[Sitting on the settee, fatigued.] Eh? Don’t forget, Claude—Gilliburton. Think of Gilly, corruption of Gilbert. Gilbert, a well-known sculptor—or writer; I forget which. Burton, man I jobbed two horses from—bays—Burton. There you have Gilly and Burton—Gilliburton. My own system of mnemonics. Memoria technica.
Claude.
It’s not a coin; it’s a ring.
Sir Fletcher Portwood.
[Irritably.] What are you talking about, my boy? You always appear to be masticating some commonplace or other.
[Horton appears.
Horton.
Beg pardon, Sir Fletcher. Mrs. Cloys wants to wish you good-day, Sir Fletcher. I wasn’t aware where you was, Sir Fletcher.
Claude.
[Giving the letter to Horton.] Miss Justina.