Don’t mind me, will you?
Mrs. Parker-Jennings.
Is there no one who can do something? And that man stands there as if he didn’t care a ball of worsted. Don’t you be too sure, my young friend. It’s your Royal ’Ighness this, and your Royal ’Ighness that. And we had to call you sir. Waiter, ’alf a pint of bitter, and look sharp about it.
Ethel.
Mother!
Mrs. Parker-Jennings.
Oh, don’t talk to me. [To Jack Straw.] Well, what have you got to say?
Jack Straw.
My dear lady, you’re so voluble, it would be difficult for me to get a word in edgeways.
Mrs. Parker-Jennings.