Lawton: ‘Pure envy. I own it.’
Bemis: ‘All right, Lawton. Wait till—’
Mrs. Roberts, making a final stitch, snapping off the thread, and springing to her feet, all in one: ‘There, have you finished, Mr. and Mrs. Lou? Well, then, take this lace handkerchief, and draw it down from his neck and pin it in his waistcoat, and you have—’
Lawton, as Mr. Bemis rises to his feet: ‘A Gentleman of the Old School. Bemis, you look like a miniature of yourself by Malbone. Rather flattered, but—recognisable.’
Bemis, with perfectly recovered gaiety: ‘Go on, go on, Lawton. I can understand your envy. I can pity it.’
Lawton: ‘Could you forgive Roberts for not capturing the garotter?’
Bemis: ‘Yes, I could. I could give the garotter his liberty, and present him with an admission to the Provident Woodyard, where he could earn an honest living for his family.’
Lawton, compassionately: ‘You are pretty far gone, Bemis. Really, I think somebody ought to go for Roberts.’
Mrs. Roberts, innocently: ‘Yes, indeed! Why, what in the world can be keeping him?’ A nursemaid enters and beckons Mrs. Roberts to the door with a glance. She runs to her; they whisper; and then Mrs. Roberts, over her shoulder: ‘That ridiculous great boy of mine says he can’t go to sleep unless I come and kiss him good-night.’
Lawton: ‘Which ridiculous great boy, I wonder?—Roberts, or Campbell? But I didn’t know they had gone to bed!’