Lady Twombley.
Julian, look at your wife! Brooke, Imogen, come to your mother! No more worries by day and bad dreams at night! No poverty—no cottage—no—no vegetables! I—I am a rich woman!
[She falls back fainting into Sir Julian’s arms as they all surround her. At the same moment Lebanon rushes in with Mrs. Gaylustre. He has a telegram in his hand; his aspect is wild, his face white.]
Mr. Joseph Lebanon.
Lady Twombley! Where is she? Lady Twombley!
[As Lady Twombley is assisted to a chair Lebanon falls into another.]
Imogen.
Mamma!
Mrs. Gaylustre.
Joseph!