Ha, ha! Ha, ha!
Vale.
Don’t, Lukyn, don’t. [In an undertone to Lukyn.] It’s very good of you, but, by Jove, my heart is broken. [To Isidore.] Mind my flower, waiter, confound you.
[He adjusts flower in his button-hole.
Isidore.
You have ordered supper, sir?
Lukyn.
Yes, on the back of my note to Mr. Blond. Serve it at once.
Isidore.
I beg your pardon, sir, at once.