Jack Straw.
Ah, perhaps it was the treadmill I was thinking of.
Mrs. Parker-Jennings.
Well, Vincent, ’ow much longer are you going to stand there like a stuffed owl?
Jack Straw.
Do my eyes deceive me, or is that a local paper that I see? [He takes it up.] Ah, I surmised that it would have an account of your garden party. Two columns of it, by Jove! You must wish you hadn’t asked so many people. [Reading.] The Duchess of St. Erth, the Marchioness of Mereston, the Marquess of Mereston, Lord and Lady Hollington, Viscount Parnaby—dear me, how smart—Lady Wanley, Mr. and Mrs. Lamberville, the Bishop of Sheffield, and the Honourable Mrs. Spratte.... I say, won’t your humbler friends grind their teeth with envy. But doesn’t it say anything about me? Here it is. [Reading.] “The Archduke Sebastian looked every inch a prince.” I said so. [Reading to himself.] Oh, spare my blushes. [Aloud.] “His Royal Highness enchanted every one by the grace of his bearing and the charm of his Imperial personality.” Blood will tell.
Mrs. Parker-Jennings.
[To Parker-Jennings.] Are you going to stand there and let this man insult me, Robert?
Jack Straw.
[Blandly.] And what do you imagine all these noble and distinguished persons will think when they read in the next number of the local paper that the royal personage whose hand they were so pleased to shake—I did my duty like a hero, didn’t I?—was serving coffee and liqueurs a fortnight ago in the Grand Babylon Hotel?