Mamma. [Lady Macphail, the Dowager, and Lady Euphemia talk together.] Mamma, everybody has congratulated me. Have you nothing to say?
[Lady Twombley places her hand fondly on Imogen’s head.]
Lady Twombley.
[In a sepulchral voice.] Did Phipps dry your head thoroughly last night?
Imogen.
Yes, mamma.
Lady Twombley.
Then all’s well, I suppose. [Sir Julian’s flute is heard. To herself.] The first Bill—the first Bill due next week.
[She sits staring at the fire as Sir Julian enters, playing the flute.]
Imogen.