QUECKETT.
Frankly, my dear, I have not.
MISS DYOTT.
Have you forgotten that my rent is due on Friday?
QUECKETT.
Completely.
MISS DYOTT.
And then think—only think of your boots!
QUECKETT.
Oh, dash it all—what man of any position ever thinks of his boots? [Producing a letter.] The fact is, Caroline, I have had a note—sent on to me from the club—from my friend, Jack Mallory. He is first-lieutenant on the "Pandora," you know, and just home after four years at Malta. He reached London yesterday, and writes me—[Reading] "Now, old chap, do let's have one of our old rollicking nights together, and"—