Lady Twombley.
How dare she?
Mr. Joseph Lebanon.
’Ow dare she? H’m! Fan, I ’ope and trust not a coolness between you and Lady T.
[Lady Twombley sinks into a chair.]
Mrs. Gaylustre.
She was dying to see you—there’s no pleasing her.
Mr. Joseph Lebanon.
Dyin’ to see me! Flattered—flattered. [He sits in close proximity to Lady Twombley.] Deah Lady T, you and I and nobody by, eh? Excuse my humour. ’Ow can I ’ave the honour of servin’ you? Don’t ’esitate, Lady T, don’t ’esitate.
Lady Twombley.