Lord Strath. I think you mean Strathsporran. I did call myself that, because it happens to be my name.
Mrs. Tid. (passionately). I don't believe it.... I can't. If it is, why did Miss Seaton call you "Mr. Claypole"?
Lord Strath. I beg your pardon—Claymore. Because, when we last met, I was Douglas Claymore, with no prospect whatever, as it seemed then, of being anything else.
Mrs. Tid. (faintly). Then he really is—Oh!
[She sinks on the couch, crushed.
Uncle Gab. Ha, well, my Lord, I'm glad this little misunderstanding is so satisfactorily cleared up, and if I may venture to hope for the honour of your company,—shall we say Friday wee——(Lord S. looks at him steadily.) Oh, if your Lordship has some better engagement, well and good. Makes no difference to me I assure you. Joanna, our carriage must be here by now, say good-bye and have done with it! Good-night, Maria, I'll see you don't expose me to this again!
Scene XII.—The guests have all taken leave with extremely frosty farewells; Mr. Tidmarsh is downstairs superintending their departure. Gwennie has been pardoned on Lord S.'s intercession, and dismissed, in much bewilderment, to bed. Mrs. Tidmarsh and Lord Strathsporran are alone.
Mrs. Tid. (hysterically). Oh, Lord Strathsporran, when I think how I——What can I ever say to you?
Lord Strath. Only, I hope, that you forgive my stupidity in blundering in here as I did, Mrs. Tidmarsh.
Mrs. Tid. It was a good deal your fault. If you had only said who you really were—if my husband had not been idiot enough to misunderstand—if Miss Seaton had been more straightforward, all this would never——!