He’s obliged to, his holiday being so brief. But these fine folks treat him as contemptuously as if he were a snail in a cabbage.
Lady Twombley.
Then why does he talk with the leg of a grouse sticking out of the side of his mouth? Why does he drink people’s health across the table and call the men-servants “old chaps?”
Mrs. Gaylustre.
Dear Jo! There’s nothing classy about him.
[Drumdurris, in shooting dress, enters, carrying a light wooden box.]
Lady Twombley.
Why does he swallow his knife and build pyramids with his bread; and tell long stories with no meaning at all or else with two?
Mrs. Gaylustre.
Well, you must take Jo as Heaven made him. So you’d better make things smooth for him with Lord Drumdurris. If not——