NEWTE. Well, what about the boy? Can’t _he_ talk to them? FANNY. Vernon! They’ve brought him up from a baby—spanked him all round, I expect. Might as well ask a boy to talk to his old schoolmaster. Besides, if he did talk, then it would all come out. As I tell you, it’s bound to come out—and the sooner the better. NEWTE. It must _not_ come out! It’s too late. If we had told him at the beginning that he was proposing to marry into his own butler’s family—well, it’s an awkward situation—he might have decided to risk it. Or he might have cried off. FANNY. And a good job if he had. NEWTE. Now talk sense. You wanted him—you took a fancy to him from the beginning. He’s a nice boy, and there’s something owing to him. [_It is his trump card_, _and he knows it_.] Don’t forget that. He’s been busy, explaining to all his friends and relations why they should receive you with open arms: really nice girl, born gentlewoman, good old Church of England family—no objection possible. For you to spring the truth upon him _now_—well, it doesn’t seem to me quite fair to _him_. FANNY. Then am I to live all my life dressed as a charity girl? NEWTE. You keep your head and things will gradually right themselves. This family of yours—they’ve got _some_ sense, I suppose? FANNY. Never noticed any sign of it myself. NEWTE. Maybe you’re not a judge. [_Laughs_.] They’ll listen to reason. You let _me_ have a talk to them, one of these days; see if I can’t show them—first one and then the other—the advantage of leaving to “better” themselves—_with the help of a little ready money_. Later on—choosing your proper time—you can break it to him that you have discovered they’re distant connections of yours, a younger branch of the family that you’d forgotten. Give the show time to settle down into a run. Then you can begin to make changes. FANNY. You’ve a wonderful way with you, George. It always sounds right as you put it—even when one jolly well knows that it isn’t. NEWTE. Well, it’s always been right for you, old girl, ain’t it? FANNY. Yes. You’ve been a rattling good friend. [_She takes his hands_.] Almost wish I’d married you instead. We’d have been more suited to one another. NEWTE [_shakes his head_]. Nothing like having your fancy. You’d never have been happy without him. [_He releases her_.] ’Twas a good engagement, or I’d never have sanctioned it. FANNY. I suppose it will be the last one you will ever get me. [_She has dropped for a moment into a brown study_.] NEWTE [_he turns_]. I hope so. FANNY [_she throws off her momentary mood with a laugh_]. Poor fellow! You never even got your commission. NEWTE. I’ll take ten per cent. of all your happiness, old girl. So make it as much as you can for my benefit. Good-bye. [_He holds out hand_.] FANNY. You’re not going? You’ll stop to lunch? NEWTE. Not to-day. FANNY. Do. If you don’t, they’ll think it’s because I was frightened to ask you.