LADY MARY. They hate it.
LORD LOAM. Mary, to your duties. (And he points severely to the tea-table.)
ERNEST (twinkling). Congratulations, Brocky.
LORD BROCKLEHURST (who detests humour). Thanks.
ERNEST. Mother pleased?
LORD BROCKLEHURST (with dignity). Mother is very pleased.
ERNEST. That’s good. Do you go on the yacht with us?
LORD BROCKLEHURST. Sorry I can’t. And look here, Ernest, I will not be called Brocky.
ERNEST. Mother don’t like it?
LORD BROCKLEHURST. She does not. (He leaves ERNEST, who forgives him and begins to think about his speech. CRICHTON enters.)