And—I frankly admit it—I’ve had more than one serious dispute with Mrs. Roper on the subject. Jimmie softly whistles a few bars of “Rule, Britannia.” Yesterday, by a coincidence— feeling the outside of his breast-pocket letter from the wife—full o’ complaints—haven’t been to Bexhill, to her and the kids, for weeks. And to do Ellen Roper justice, she’s not the woman to grumble without cause. Picking up his hat and cane which he has placed upon the centre table. Dash it all, home ties are home ties! Polishing his hat with his sleeve. And, taking one consideration with another—and after this—this occurrence—it’s my intention for the future—my firm intention——
Lily.
Running to Roper and throwing her arms around his neck. Oh, Uncle Lal, not altogether! We’re tired and cross this morning! Not altogether!
Mrs. Upjohn.
Behind the centre table. No, no, Uncle, you mustn’t——!
Lily.
To Roper. Forgive us! Coaxingly. Mother and Jimmie are cats——!
Mrs. Upjohn and Jimmie.
Oh——!
The door on the left opens, and Gladys enters with a card on a salver.