Mary. Why, the name she gives things. She asked me at breakfast to hand her the Mazas, and when I didn’t understand her, she called me Helot, and pointed to the muffins.
Hat. If you’re talking about Miss Mifton, she is a treat. She’s got a new name for sausages.
Car. If she will only be good to the children.
Hat. You needn’t worry about that. If you’d seen the way she wept over them, and kissed and fondled them. And called them Hippicus and Alophagos.
Hel. (sternly) Who are they?
Hat. Oh, I didn’t like to ask—some connections of her own, perhaps.
Hel. No doubt! They are sufficiently outlandish; the idea of a Governess, wandering about the house in an extravagant tea gown; impertinence I call it.
Mary. I suppose we’re to take our orders from you as usual, Mum?
Hel. Yes! Certainly!
Mary. Thank ye! I don’t want to have that person lording it over me.