[Ablett is now going about pouring out the ale. Occasionally he drops his glove, misses it, and recovers it.]
Telfer.
[To Imogen.] Miss Parrott, my dear, follow the counsel of one who has sat at many a "good man's feast"—have a little 'am.
Imogen.
Thanks, Mr. Telfer. [Mrs. Telfer returns.]
Mrs. Telfer.
Sitting down to table in my absence! [To Telfer.] How is this, James?
Telfer.
We are pressed for time, Violet, my love.