Lord Strath. Say? Why——
[He struggles to control his countenance for a moment, until he is convulsed at last by irrepressible laughter.
All (except the Tidmarshes). He's laughing—positively laughing at Us! The brazenness of it!
Lord Strath. (regaining composure). I—I'm awfully sorry, but it struck me suddenly as so——After all, the joke is only against myself. (To himself.) Must try and get my unfortunate hostess out of this fix—not that she deserves it! (Aloud.) If you will kindly let me explain, I think I can——
Mr. Tid. (suddenly). Oh, hang explaining! It's all out now, and you'd better leave it there!
Lord Strath. I can't, indeed. I must make you all understand that this well-meaning lady with the highly-developed sense of duty has done our host and hostess a grave injustice, besides paying me a compliment I don't deserve. I'm sorry to say I can't claim to be half as useful a member of the community as any of the very obliging and attentive gentlemen in Mr. Blankley's employment. If I'm anything, I'm a—an Egyptologist, in an amateur sort of way, you know. A—in fact, I'm writing a book on Ancient Egypt.
The Others. A literary man! As if that made it any better!
Lord Strath. I merely mention it because it led me to write to Mr. Cartouche—whom I happened to hear of as a famous collector—and ask to be allowed to call and inspect his collection. Mr. Cartouche (who lives, I believe, at No. 92, next door) very kindly wrote, giving me leave, and inviting me to dine at the same time, and—I know it was unpardonably careless of me—but somehow I came here instead, and, Mr. and Mrs. Tidmarsh being both too—er—hospitable to undeceive me, I never found my mistake out till too late to put it right, without inconveniencing everybody. That's really all.
[Uneasy reaction in the company.
Uncle Gab. (pompously). Ha—hum—no doubt that puts a somewhat different complexion on the case, but it doesn't explain your conduct in calling yourself Lord Strathfoozleum, or whatever it was.