Mr. Joseph Lebanon.
[Slapping Macphail on the back.] Mac, dear old boy, ’aven’t seen you this morning. [Macphail turns away distrustfully.] Lady Mac, I ’ear delightful whispers.
Lady Macphail.
Sir?
Mr. Joseph Lebanon.
An approachin’ ’appy event. We’re like the doves—we’re pairin’ off, hey; we’re pairin’ off? [Lady Macphail stares at him and turns away. He wipes his forehead anxiously.] It’s a little difficult to keep up a long conversation with ’em. They’re not what I should term Rattlers. [Eyeing Egidia.] The fair ’ostess. Ahem! We missed you at the breakfast-table, Lady Drum. Can’t congratulate you on your peck—excuse my humour.
[Egidia stares at him and joins Lady Macphail.] [To himself.] They’re a chatty lot; I must say they’re a chatty lot. I wish Fanny would stick by me and cut in occasionally. There’s Lady T. She can’t ride the ’igh ’orse, at any rate. Lady T.
Lady Twombley.
Mr. Lebanon?
Mr. Joseph Lebanon.