Lady Twombley.
Man!
Mr. Joseph Lebanon.
I ignore the innuendo. Lady Twombley, I am aware that for a successful entrée into Society I requiah a—ha—a substantial guarantee. I ’ave, therefore, the honour and the ’appiness to put myself under your sheltering and I ’ope sympathetic wing.
Lady Twombley.
You—you will drive me mad! You won’t dare to call here, to contaminate my bell-handle, to send up your hideous name!
Mr. Joseph Lebanon.
Oh, Fan, I really can’t! This is descendin’ to a mere wrangle. Pray cut in.
Mrs. Gaylustre.
No, Lady Twombley, as the Season is drawing to a close, Joseph certainly does not intend to attach himself to your London establishment.