Mrs. Toov. Pa, is this true? You knew who Mr. Curphew was and never told me!
Mr Toov. My dear, I've no more notion who he is, if he's not Mr. Curphew, than a babe un——
Curph. But surely, Sir, you forget our conversation at Clapham Junction this day week? You certainly knew everything then. I thought your nephew had probably——
Charles. I'd no idea of it myself till last Saturday, so it couldn't have been me!
Alth. (impatiently). No idea of what? Who is Mr. Curphew, Papa?
Curph. (to her, in astonishment). But you know! surely you know? What else have we been talking about?
Mr. Toov. (helplessly). I think we might try to be a little more clear, all of us. I do indeed. I'm in a perfect fog myself.
Mrs. Toov. Then, Pa, let me inform you that you have been encouraging the acquaintance of a person who gains his living by singing ribald songs at music-halls under the name of Walter Wildfire!
Alth. (to herself). Walter Wildfire! Then it was——Oh, if I had known!
Mr. Toov. A—a music-hall singer! He! Oh, dear, dear me; how one may be deceived in people!