Mrs. Toov. (to herself). Gracious goodness! It's the man whose ears I boxed at the Eldorado! What shall I do?
[She seizes the current number of "The Quiver," and retires behind it.
Alth. (to herself). He's awfully like the young man in that box on Saturday! If Mamma really was there! (She glances at Mrs. T., in whose hands "The Quiver" is rustling audibly.) Ah, then I wasn't mistaken. Oh, how dreadful if he should recognise her!
Mr. Toov. My signature? Yes, yes, yes, to be sure, just so; but the fact is, I—I've been thinking over the matter, and—and—but that lady by the window will explain my views.
Mrs. Toov. (in a muffled voice, from behind "The Quiver"). I—I shall do nothing of the sort. I—I'm busy. Sign whatever the young man wants, Pa, and don't bother me about it!
Mr. Jann. (to himself). That's rum. Where have I heard that voice? And "Pa," too! Very rum!
Mr. Toov. Oh, very well, my love; I only thought—but I'll sign. I'll sign. Only, I rather fancy you're sitting just in front of the writing materials, my dear.
Mr. Jann. (gallantly). Allow me! (He goes towards Mrs. T.'s chair. "The Quiver" treacherously collapses at the critical moment; their eyes meet.) Well, ma'am, this is the last place I expected to find you in; after 'unting for you the entire Sunday afternoon all over Upper Tooting, too!
[General sensation. Tableau.