[The hoarse strains of the Marseillaise are again heard from the distance.]
LORD W. [Blandly] Take her up, Poulder!
L. ANNE. Well, I'm coming down again—and next time I shan't have any clothes on, you know.
[They vanish between the pillars. LORD WILLIAM makes a sign of dismissal. The FOOTMAN file out.]
LEMMY. [Admiringly] Luv'ly pyces!
LORD W. [Pleasantly] Now then; let's have our talk, Mr.——
LEMMY. Lemmy.
PRESS. [Who has slipped his note-book out] "Bombed and Bomber face to face——"
LEMMY. [Uneasy] I didn't come 'ere agyne on me own, yer know. The Press betryed me.
LORD W. Is that old lady your mother?