MARY. But you don't think he's pining, do you? LEONARD. No, no. I'm only quoting the poet. MARY. Why do you say things like that--just to amuse yourself--and you might know they frighten me? That's it. You don't think of other people--except now and then when you seem to get interested. LEONARD. I'll go for the doctor. MARY. Yes. Thank you. LEONARD. Anything else I can do? MARY. Would they trust us for Lubbock's food? LEONARD. I'll pawn my watch. MARY. Wait. We'll see what the doctor says. LEONARD. Well, I won't be five minutes. MARY. Thank you very much indeed. LEONARD. No, my dear girl, don't put it like that. [_There is a ring at the front door bell._] Anyone for us I wonder. MARY. Oh! I must tell you. My mother might come. My father will come too, but he couldn't get off now. LEONARD. Of course you've got parents, too, haven't you. MARY. Don't you ever think of that? LEONARD. But where have they been all this time? MARY. They didn't know where I lived. LEONARD. They could have got the address from my mother. MARY. I wrote and told them I'd gone to Canada. I felt I couldn't face them then. LEONARD. And now? MARY. My mother knows a lot about babies. I want to see her. You won't like them, I'm afraid. I think someone's coming in. LEONARD. Oh! I'm sure I shall find them quite amusing. No, I don't mean that. I mean interesting. Interesting; that's what I mean when I say amusing. They're coming up. MARY. That's my father's voice. LEONARD. Let's see--what does he do? MARY. He's a cabman. LEONARD. Heavens! Are there such things still! A growler or what? [_The door opens and MRS. GREAVES ushers in MR. AND MRS. BROOME. He is dingily arrayed but confronts misfortunes with a slightly defiant air. She is a rather sharp, quiet woman, shabbily dressed. She does not display much tenderness to her daughter but regards her with some solicitude. MRS. GREAVES watches the greetings curiously before retiring._] MARY. [_After kisses from father and mother._] This is my husband. [_There is some rather stiff hand shaking._] MARY. Sit down, mother. LEONARD. Sit down, Mr. Broome. MARY. Baby's not very well as I told you, mother, and he's just off for the doctor. [_To LEONARD._] Will you go? LEONARD. Yes, certainly. BROOME. Is he coming back? LEONARD. Good, Mr. Broome, good. You read my thoughts. BROOME. What? LEONARD. I was just wondering whether I was coming back. How soon, I mean. BROOME. Well, it'd only be polite--and you've nothing to do, it seems? You're out of a job too? MARY. Are you, father? MRS. BROOME. [_Bitterly._] Ay, they've chucked him at last. MARY. When? MRS. BROOME. Only yesterday. BROOME. [_With gloomy joviality to LEONARD._] So there's two on us at a loose end. LEONARD. [_Politely._] Yes, we ought to see something of one another, Mr. Broome. But I'm not exactly out of a job. I've never been in one. BROOME. Oh! A gentleman of means. LEONARD. Without means, Mr. Broome, without means.