Brooke Twombley.
Bosh! Look out, here’s pa! He seems awfully mumpish. Come on.
[He takes Valentine out. Directly they are gone Lady Euphemia re-enters with Sir Julian Twombley, an aristocratic but rather weak-looking man of about fifty-five, wearing his Ministerial uniform.]
Lady Euphemia Vibart.
Are you pleased to get back, uncle?
Sir Julian Twombley.
[Emphatically.] Yes.
[She places him in the arm-chair. He sinks into it with a sigh.]
Lady Euphemia Vibart.
How is your neuralgia?