Mrs Jennings. Now, can't you guess who I am? I am not the Princess Blakowska, your Grace, I am not, indeed; and yet—that letter concerns me.
Duke [gasping, looks at her transfixed]. What! Is it possible that you are—
Mrs Jennings. Susan Jennings! Yes! Oh, pray forgive me, it is not my fault that you thought I was the Princess.
Duke. And you're the cook! [Mrs Jennings bows her head silently]. What a precious fool I've been making of myself. But then why did you pretend you were somebody else? You said you were a first-class passenger.
Mrs Jennings [with dignity]. Excuse me, your Grace! I didn't pretend. I had to come first because I'm on my way to call on your Grace. I'm still with the Princess at Penge till the end of the week. I went to your house at Grosvenor Gardens, and you were out, and now I am going back. I thought it was more suitable, everything considered, that I shouldn't run the risk of travelling with servants or people of inferior position.
Duke. But my dear Princess—I mean, my dear madam—tut-tut—I mean, my good woman, what do you call yourself?
Mrs Jennings. An artist.
Duke. An artist! Yes, that was what the Princess said.
Mrs Jennings. And, oh, your Grace, I should like to try those tomatoes for you.
Duke. Those tomatoes! Well, Mrs Jennings, if you are sure you can be discreet and silent, and will reveal to no one what has passed between us to-day—