Whitwell. With the greatest pleasure.
Coddle. Haven’t the leisure? Oh, yes, you have! We’ll dine early. I’ll take no refusal.—Jane, dinner at five.
Jane. Yes, sir. (Courtesies.) Yah, old crosspatch! with your providential son-in-laws, and your bachelors, and your dine-at-fives.
Coddle. No, thank you, Jane; not fish-balls. Curried lamb I prefer. Go, give the order at once.
Jane. Bah! with your fish-balls and your curries. Oh, if it wasn’t for that trumpery legacy! Yah! (Exit L., snarling.)
Coddle. Faithful Jane; invaluable friend! What should I do without her?
Whitwell (loudly). My dear sir, is it possible you suffer such insolence?
Coddle (shouts). You’re quite right. Yes, a perfect treasure, my young friend. A model, I assure you.
Whitwell (aside). Well, after that, deaf isn’t the word for it.