MRS. COADE. Poor Matey!
LADY CAROLINE. He wichly desewves what he is about to get.
JOANNA. He is coming! Don't all stand huddled together like conspirators.
MRS. COADE. It is what we are!
(Swiftly they find seats, and are sunk thereon like ladies waiting languidly for their lords when the doomed butler appears. He is a man of brawn, who could cast any one of them forth for a wager; but we are about to connive at the triumph of mind over matter.)
ALICE (always at her best before "the bright face of danger"). Ah, Matey, I wish this telegram sent.
MATEY (a general favourite). Very good, ma'am. The village post office closed at eight, but if your message is important—
ALICE. It is; and you are so clever, Matey, I am sure that you can persuade them to oblige you.
MATEY (taking the telegram). I will see to it myself, ma'am; you can depend on its going.
(There comes a little gasp from COADY, which is the equivalent to dropping a stitch in needle-work.)