Nor. Even Tom sees the joke. (throws hat to Tom)
Tom, suddenly serious, turns up to be consoled by Mildred; exeunt, C. to R.; Tom hanging Lord Normantower’s hat on stick in stand.
Phil. Lord Normantower and I were at Oxford together. We became great friends; and though circumstances have kept us a good deal apart—we’ve never quite lost sight of one another.
Nor. I haven’t the pleasure of knowing Sir Peter myself, but I believe other members of my family have had that privilege.
Sir P. (crosses to Lord Normantower, C.) Sir, I had the honour of attending the last three Earls of Normantower. Your uncle—gout; your cousin Richard—lungs; your cousin John—delirium—humph—delirium! (Philip drops down, R.C.)
Nor. (throws gloves on table, L.C.) That branch of the family disposed of, the peerage devolved on me as the eldest son of my poor father—the only Verinder who never enjoyed the title, and the only one who deserved it.
Sir P. (shaking him by the hand) I quite agree with you. (turns up C.)
Phil. Let us hope his son will be worthy of him.
Nor. (sits in chair R. of sofa) Ah, well, I’ll do my best; but ten thousand a year, paid quarterly in advance, would have suited Ned Verinder’s book better than an empty honour without a shilling to support it.