In all probability we shall grow our own vegetables.
Imogen.
Oh! What for?
Lady Twombley.
For dinner. And, oh, Imogen, have pity on your mother! I can face contemptible, cleanly poverty with pa alone, but if I see my innocent chicks sharing our miseries every cabbage in our garden will grow up with a broken heart!
[She embraces Imogen. Lady Macphail enters with Macphail.]
Lady Macphail.
Miss Twombley, Lord Drumdurris’s guests are politely waiting till you are pleased to lead the Strathspey with the Macphail.
Macphail.
Miss Twombley.