Nokes [laughing uncomfortably]. Ha! ha! What a funny idea!
Rasper [obstinately]. But I have, though; and in a shop-window, too.
Susan [delightedly]. That is superbe, magnifique! I am so happy, so proud! My husband, they have copied this leetle work of mine in London!
[Robinson and Sponge clap their hands applaudingly.]
Rasper [shakes his head; aside]. Dashed if I don't believe it's a chromolithograph! [To Nokes] I say, Nokes, you wrote to us in such raptures about your wife's hands. Why does she keep her gloves on?
Nokes [confused]. Keep her gloves on? You mean why does she wear them in-doors? Well, the fact is, the Montmorencis always do it. It's been a family peculiarity for centuries,—like the Banshee. And, besides, she does it to keep her hands delicate: they're just like roses—I mean white roses,—if you could only see 'em. But then she always wears gloves.
Rasper [grunts disapproval]. Then I suppose it's no use asking her to give us a tune on the piano?
Nokes [hastily]. Not a bit, not a bit; of course not; and, besides, we shall have lunch directly.
Susan [approaching them]. What is dat, Mr. Gasper? Did you not ask for a leetle music? What you like for me to play?
Nokes [aside to Susan]. How can you be such a fool? Why, this is suicide! [To Rasper] My dear fellow, my wife would be delighted, but the fact is the piano is out of order. The tuner is coming to-morrow.