Charles. Had your cabman been giving a smoking party inside his fourwheeler, or what, Aunt?
Mrs. Toov. I don't—yes, I believe he had. He apologised for it; it—it was his birthday. (To herself.) Oh, dear me, what makes me tell these dreadful stories?
Mr. Toovey. His birthday! Why, if you remember, Cornelia, you said the man had been drinking. That would account for it! But did I understand there was to be another Zenana Meeting, my love? That seems rather soon, does it not, after having one only last Saturday!
Mrs. Toov. (to herself). I must go on, or he'll suspect something. (Aloud, severely.) And why not, Pa—pray, why not? You know what an energetic creature Mrs. Cumberbatch is! Can we do too much for those poor benighted heathen women? And there was a great deal that we had to leave unfinished the other evening.
Mr. Toov. Dear me, and you were home so late, too!
Mrs. Toov. Perhaps you disbelieve my word, Pa? If you do, say so, and I shall know what to think! Though what I've done to deserve such suspicion——
Mr. Toov. (astounded). My own love, I never for one single moment—— Hem, the wife of Cæsar is above suspicion.
Mrs. Toov. (with relief). I should hope so, Theophilus; not that you are Cæsar—but there, that is enough of a very painful subject. Let us say no more about it.
Curphew (to himself). I'm more certain every moment that this immaculate matron is lying like a prospectus, but what can I do? I've no proof, and if I had, I couldn't bring myself to—— Well, I must wait, that's all.
Mrs. Toov. What I should like to know is, why Mr. Curphew still remains here after we have distinctly informed him that we do not desire his further acquaintance?