Alma. Whoever he is, he’s clever.
Sir H. Started life under the best auspices, but he has made no way.
Alma. How’s that, Sir Humphrey? (both come down, C.)
Sir H. It’s the old story. First he got amongst a set of loose companions,—Bohemians, they called themselves—and then he took to——
Alma. Drink?
Sir H. Not drink exactly—art. (sits R. of table)
Alma. Oh dear! how very sad!
Sir H. The doctor knows the circumstances.
Dr. (down, R.C.) They were most distressing.