Nokes [shaking hands with all]. Welcome, my friends, welcome to the Tamarisks.
Robinson. Thank ye, Nokes, thank ye. But how changed we are at the Tamarisks! [Pointing to the piano and portfolio.] I mean how changed we are for the better! ain't we, Sponge? ain't we, Rasper?
Sponge [fawningly]. It was always a charming retreat, but we now see everywhere, in addition to its former beauties, the magical influence of a female hand.
Rasper [vulgarly]. Yes; no doubt of that. Directly I saw the new coach-house, I said, "By Jove, that's Mrs. N——'s doing! She'll spend his money for him, will Mrs. N——."
Nokes [annoyed]. You were very good, I'm sure.
Sponge. But it is here, within-doors, my dear Nokes, that the great transformation-scene has been effected. Pianos, harpsichords, sketch-books,—these all bespeak the presence of lovely and accomplished woman.
Robinson. May we venture to peep into this portfolio, my good fellow?—that is, if the contents have the interest for us that we believe them to have. It holds Mrs. Nokes's sketches, I presume.
Nokes. Yes, yes; they are her sketches and nobody else's. [Aside] Certainly they are, for I bought them for her in Piccadilly.—But here she comes to answer for herself. [Enter Susan.] Sus—I mean Constance, my dear, let me introduce to you three friends of my bachelor days, Mr. Sponge, Mr. Rasper, Mr. Robinson.
Susan [speaking broken English]. Gentlemens, I am mos glad to see you. My husband—hees friends are mai friends.
Rasper [aside]. She's devilish civil. If she had been English I should almost think she was afraid of us.