RICHARDSON. ‘Again?’
STEVE. ‘Sit down, and clear the enemy out of that dish.’
By the enemy he means the other chop: what a name for a chop. Steve plays the part of butler. He brings her a plate from the little cupboard.
‘Dinner is served, madam.’
RICHARDSON, who will probably be a great duchess some day, ‘I don’t mind if I does have a snack.’ She places herself at the table after what she conceives to be the manner of the genteelly gluttonous; then she quakes a little. ‘If Missis was to catch me.’ She knows that Missis is probably sitting downstairs with her arms folded, hopeful of the chop for herself.
STEVE. ‘You tuck in and I’ll keep watch.’
He goes to the door to peer over the banisters; it is all part of the game. Richardson promptly tucks in with horrid relish.
RICHARDSON. ‘What makes you so good to me, sir?’
STEVE. ‘A gentleman is always good to a lady.’
RICHARDSON, preening, ‘A lady? Go on.’