Lord Strath. (lifting his eyebrows.) Am I to understand that you did not expect me, after all? Because, if so,—I——
Mrs. Tid. Oh, yes, we expected you, and of course, you will be treated exactly the same as everybody else—except—I don't know if my husband warned you about not touching the champagne? No? Oh, well, you will drink claret please, not champagne. I daresay you prefer it.
Lord Strath. Thank you, I should indeed—if you have any misgivings about your champagne.
Mrs. Tid. We must draw some distinction between you and our regular guests, as I'm sure you'll understand.
Lord Strath. (to himself.) Poor devils—if they only knew! But what an unspeakable snob this woman is! I'd give something to get out of this house—if it wasn't for Marjory. I must have a word with her before dinner—strikes me she's put out with me about something or other.
Mrs. Gilwattle (to her Husband). Did you ever see anything like the way Maria's talking to that young nobleman, Gabriel? as easy and composed as if she'd kept such company all her life—it's a wonder how she can do it!
Uncle Gab. Look at the finishing she's had! And after all, he's flesh and blood like ourselves. She might introduce you and me to him, though—it looks as if she was ashamed of her own relations. I shall go up and introduce myself in a minute, and do what I can to make the young fellow feel himself at home. (Intercepting Lord S. in the act of moving towards Miss Seaton.) Excuse me, my Lord, but, as the uncle of our worthy host and hostess, I should like the honour of shaking you by the hand. (He shakes hands.) My name's Gilwattle, my Lord, and I ought to tell you before I go any further that I've no superstitious reverence for rank. Whether a man's a lord or a linen-draper, is exactly the same to me—I look upon him dimply as a human being.
Lord Strath. Quite so? he—ah—generally is, isn't he?
Uncle Gab. Very handsome of your Lordship to admit it, I'm sure—but what I mean to say is, I regard any friend of my niece and nephew's as a friend of mine—be he a Duke or be he a Dustman.
Lord Strath. Unhappily for me, I'm neither a Duke nor a Dustman, and—er—will you kindly excuse me? (To himself as he passes on.) That old gentleman makes me quite ill. Ah, Marjory at last! (To Miss Seaton.) You've scarcely spoken a word to me yet! I hoped somehow you'd look a little pleased to see me—after all this time!