[He slips it into his stocking.]
Macphail.
Oh!
Mrs. Gaylustre.
And now, as I start in the morning at nine-forty-five, sharp, on the tick, we must say farewell. Oh, this parting is too cruel. Colin!
[She falls against him.]
Macphail.
Here’s my mother! [He throws her off.]
Mrs. Gaylustre.
[Under her breath.] Drat your mother!