Lady John. It's not only here that you manœuvre for that Secretaryship!
Farn. (confidentially). You can never tell when your chance might come! That election chap's promised to keep me posted.
(The door flies open and Jean Dunbarton rushes in.)
Jean. Aunt Ellen—here I——
Lady John (astonished). My dear child!
(They embrace. Enter Lord John from the garden—a benevolent, silver-haired despot of sixty-two.)
Lord John. I thought that was you running up the avenue.
(Jean greets her uncle warmly, but all the time she and her aunt talk together. "How did you get here so early?" "I knew you'd be surprised—wasn't it clever of me to manage it? I don't deserve all the credit." "But there isn't any train between——" "Yes, wait till I tell you." "You walked in the broiling sun——" "No, no." "You must be dead. Why didn't you telegraph? I ordered the carriage to meet the 1.10. Didn't you say the 1.10? Yes, I'm sure you did—here's your letter.")
Lord J. (has shaken hands with Farnborough and speaks through the torrent). Now they'll tell each other for ten minutes that she's an hour earlier than we expected.