Trains and feathers! Good gracious, Brooke, Imogen must have grown up!
Brooke Twombley.
Here’s her portrait—what?
Valentine White.
[Staring at the portrait.] I am right, Brooke—she has grown up!
Brooke Twombley.
Haw!
Valentine White.
Eight years ago she was a romp, with a frock that always had a tear in it, and a head like a cornfield in the wind. Just look at this! While I’ve been away they’ve given her a new frock and brushed her hair. What an awful change!
[Probyn appears at the conservatory entrance.]