MRS. B.—When did you say your son was coming, Lady Kicklebury?
LADY K.—My Clarence! He will be here immediately, I hope, the dear boy. You know my Clarence?
TOUCHIT.—Yes, ma'am.
LADY K.—And like him, I'm sure, Captain Touchit! Everybody does like Clarence Kicklebury.
TOUCHIT.—The confounded young scamp! I say, Horace, do you like your brother-in-law?
MILLIKEN.—Well—I—I can't say—I—like him—in fact, I don't. But that's no reason why his mother shouldn't. [During this, HOWELL, preceded by BULKELEY, hands round coffee. The garden without has darkened, as if evening. BULKELEY is going away without offering coffee to Miss PRIOR. JOHN stamps on his foot, and points to her. Captain TOUCHIT, laughing, goes up and talks to her now the servants are gone.]
MRS. B.—Horace! I must tell you that the waste at your table is shocking. What is the need of opening all this wine? You and Lady Kicklebury were the only persons who took champagne.
TOUCHIT.—I never drink it—never touch the rubbish! Too old a stager!
LADY K.—Port, I think, is your favorite, Mrs. Bonnington?
MRS. B.—My dear lady, I do not mean that you should not have champagne, if you like. Pray, pray, don't be angry! But why on earth, for you, who take so little, and Horace, who only drinks it to keep you company, should not Howell open a pint instead of a great large bottle?