Charles (entering behind her). Hallo, Mrs. Cagney, what's all this—who's a Russian spy, eh? (Recognising Mr. Toovey.) What—Uncle! you don't mean to say it's you?
[Mr. Toovey stands stricken with confusion.
Mrs. Cagn. I may have spoke too free, Mr. Collimore, Sir, but when a party, as is elderly enough to know better, tries to put under'and questions to me about where and 'ow any o' my gentlemen pass their hevenins, and if they go to the music-'all and what not—why, I put it to you——
Charles. All right, Mrs. Cagney, put it to me some other time; you didn't understand my uncle, that's all—you needn't stay. Oh, by the way, I'm dining out again this evening. Tell Cagney to leave the chain, as I may be late. (After Mrs. C. has retired.) Well, Uncle, I'm afraid your diplomacy hasn't had quite the success it deserved.
"Mr. Collimore conducks hisself as a gentleman, and treats me as a lady."
Mr. Toov. (sheepishly). I assure you, my boy, that I—I was not inquiring for my own satisfaction. Your Aunt is naturally anxious to know how you—— But your landlady gave you an excellent character.
Charles. She didn't seem to be equally complimentary to you, Uncle. "A Russian spy," wasn't it? But really, you know, you might have come to me for any information you require. I don't mind telling you all there is to tell. And surely Aunt knows I've been to a music-hall; why, she pitched into me about it enough last Sunday!
Mr. Toov. I—I think she wanted to know whether you went frequently, Charles, or only that once.
Charles. Oh, and so she sent you up to pump my landlady? Well, I'll tell you exactly how it is. I don't set up to be a model young man like your friend Curphew. I don't spend all my evenings in this cheerful and luxurious apartment. Now and then I find the splendour of the surroundings rather too much for me, and I'm ready to go anywhere, even to a music-hall, for a change. There, I blush to say, I spend an hour or two, smoking cigars, and even drinking a whisky and soda, or a lemon squash, listening to middle-aged ladies in sun-bonnets and accordion skirts singing out of tune. I don't know that they amuse me much, but, at all events, they're livelier than Mrs. Cagney. I'm dining out to-night, at the Criterion, with a man at the office, and it's as likely as not we shall go in to the Valhalla or the Eldorado afterwards. There, you can't say I'm concealing anything from you. And I don't see why you should groan like that, Uncle.