Mr. Hawkins (coming up). 'Ullo! so you're 'ere, are you?
[Stands in front of their chairs in an easy attitude. His friend looks on with an admiring grin in the background, unintroduced, but quite happy and contented.
Polly. Ah, we're 'ere all right enough. 'Ow did you get out?
Mr. H. (his dignity slightly ruffled). 'Ow did I get out? I'm not in the 'abit of working Sundays if I know it.
Polly. Oh, I thought p'raps she wouldn't let you come out without 'er. (Mr. H. disdains to notice this insinuation.) Why, how you are blushing up, FLO! She looks quite nice when she blushes, don't she?
Mr. H. (who is of the same opinion, but considers it beneath him to betray his sentiments). Can't say, I'm sure; I ain't a judge of blushing myself. I've forgotten how it's done.
Polly. Ah! I dessay you found it convenient to forget. (A pause. Mr. H. smiles in well-pleased acknowledgment of this tribute to his brazen demeanour.) Did ARTHUR send you a telegraph?—he sent FLO one. [This is added with a significance intended to excite Mr. H.'s jealousy.
Mr. H. (unperturbed). No; he telegraphed to father, though. He's gettin' on well over at Melbun, ain't he? They think a lot of him out there. And now gettin' his name in the paper, too, like that, why—
Flo. That'll do him a lot of good, 'aving his name in the paper, won't it?
Mr. H. Oh, ARTHUR's gettin' on fine. Have you read the letters he's sent over? No? Well, you come in to-morrow evening and have a look at 'em. Look sharp, or they'll be lent out again; they've been the reg'lar round, I can tell you. I shall write and blow 'im up, though, for not sending me a telegraft, too.