Gadd.
[Quietly to Imogen.] It makes me sick to watch Colpoys in private life. He'd stand on his head in the street, if he could get a ragged infant to laugh at him. [Picking the leg of a fowl furiously.] What I say is this. Why can't an actor, in private life, be simply a gentleman? [Loudly and haughtily.] More tongue here!
Ablett.
[Hurrying to him.] Yessir, certainly, sir. [Again discomposed by some antic on the part of Colpoys.] Oh, don't, Mr. Colpoys! [Going to Telfer with Gadd's plate—speaking while Telfer carves a slice of tongue.] I shan't easily forget this afternoon, Mr. Telfer. [Exhausted.] This 'll be something to tell Mrs. Ablett. Ho, ho! oh, dear, oh, dear!
[Ablett, averting his face from Colpoys, brings back Gadd's plate. By an unfortunate chance, Ablett's glove has found its way to the plate and is handed to Gadd by Ablett.]
Gadd.
[Picking up the glove in disgust.] Merciful powers! what's this!
Ablett.
[Taking the glove.] I beg your pardon, sir—my error, entirely.
[A firm rat-tat-tat at the front door is heard. There is a general exclamation. At the same moment Sarah, a diminutive servant in a crinoline, appears in the doorway.]