Tupper. Who's it from? Your young man? (reads wire over Aurora's shoulder)
Aurora. (opening it) 'Arf a mo'! It's from the dear Doctor. (aside) I'd know 'is 'and writing anywheres, it's sich a sorft 'and. (reads word for word) "Expect — me — back — at — half — past — four — and —: please — have — my — tea — ready."
Tupper. (counts words on his fingers—sadly) There's extravagance. Blues a tenpence on a telegram, an' my clothes owin' for.
Aurora (aside) 'Ave 'is tea ready! That I will! As if I wouldn't 'ave it ready whenever 'e comes, bless 'im! (stuffs telegram in bosom, then fusses about room, putting things straight, starts scouring bureau)
Tupper. (watching her) I believe you're in love with the "Dear Doctor." (picks another fag end off ash-tray and lies on couch smoking it)
Aurora. Oh, go smoke! Little boys should be seen and not heard!
Tupper. Well, any'ow yer always tidyin' up 'is things an' neglectin' the missus, an' yer only 'arf 'is, yer know.
(Front door bell rings.)
Aurora. (snatches ladder quickly and goes to the door, saying to herself) 'Arf 'is, indeed! No! It's all for 'im—all for 'im!
(Exit Aurora. L. U. E.)