“David vos so keen—ah, vell, we can’t all be as keen.... Vish I vos a poy, and could choin up. Hey, Phillips, vill you take me as a regruit in your rechiment? Vere are you two off to, Nell?”
“Pictures, father.”
“To ze bictures? Good. Enchoy yourselves. Look vell after her, Phillips. She’s my only girl left, you see.”
“Your eldest daughter is living with you for the present, isn’t she, Mr Redbury?” enquired the hoped-for son-in-law.
The prospectively bereaved father did not look grateful for the proffered consolation of Hedda. “Run away to ze bictures, yong beople,” and prepared to re-enter the smoking-room.
“Pictures, father, not the pictures,” Nell, explained, speaking as she always did, like a shy but rapid cascade, perpetually dammed. “Miss Verity has invited me—she is fetching me. Not——” She dared not let him continue in the belief that she was to be escorted by Samson.
“Two girls vun vay and two boys anuzzer, and leave an old fogey like me to entertain the Gaptain? No, no, that’s a foolish arranchment. Vait for your friend, Nell, and all go to the bictures togezzer.”
“Pictures, father. Not the pictures. And I’m not sure if Antonia——”
“All be cholly togezzer,” her father commanded her, peevish at her second attempt at protest.