Miss P. Good morning, Audley!
Pil. Good morning. (Lucy rises, crosses and kisses Miss Pillenger and returns R.)
Miss P. Well, Lucy!
Lucy. Good morning, Auntie.
Miss P. Is breakfast not ready? (looking at table through glasses)
Pil. No, it isn't ready—not quite ready. I have no doubt it's nearly ready.
Miss P. I shall really have to speak sharply to Cook. (moves towards kitchen)
Pil. I see no necessity for any—er—drastic step of that description. The delay is due to that man Skeggs.
Miss P. Skeggs? (returns to C.)
Pil. Skeggs. It is also traceable, in a minor degree to yourself—your injudicious selection of kidneys.