_Mrs. P.-P._: Major! How dare you? I’ve got my little girl, I suppose you know. Her feet can patter as well as other children’s. _Maj._: Only one pair of feet. _Mrs. P.-P._: Certainly. My child isn’t a centipede. Considering the way they move us about in those horrid jungle stations, without a decent bungalow to set one’s foot in, I consider I’ve got a hearthless child, rather than a childless hearth. Thank you for your sympathy all the same. I dare say it was well meant. Impertinence often is. _Em._: Dear Mrs. Paly-Paget, we were only feeling sorry for your sweet little girl when she grows older, you know. No little brothers and sisters to play with. _Mrs. P.-P._: Mrs. Carewe, this conversation strikes me as being indelicate, to say the least of it. I’ve only been married two and a half years, and my family is naturally a small one. _Maj._: Isn’t it rather an exaggeration to talk of one little female child as a family? A family suggests numbers. _Mrs. P.-P._: Really, Major, you language is extraordinary. I dare say I’ve only got a little female child, as you call it, at present— _Maj._: Oh, it won’t change into a boy later on, if that’s what you’re counting on. Take our word for it; we’ve had so much more experience in these affairs than you have. Once a female, always a female. Nature is not infallible, but she always abides by her mistakes. _Mrs. P.-P._ (rising): Major Dumbarton, these boats are uncomfortably small, but I trust we shall find ample accommodation for avoiding each other’s society during the rest of the voyage. The same wish applies to you, Mrs. Carewe. (Exit Mrs. Paly-Paget, L.) _Maj._: What an unnatural mother! (Sinks into chair.) _Em._: I wouldn’t trust a child with any one who had a temper like hers. Oh, Dickie, why did you go and have such a large family? You always said you wanted me to be the mother of your children. _Maj._: I wasn’t going to wait while you were founding and fostering dynasties in other directions. Why you couldn’t be content to have children of your own, without collecting them like batches of postage stamps I can’t think. The idea of marrying a man with four children! _Em._: Well, you’re asking me to marry one with five. _Maj._: Five! (Springing to his feet) Did I say five? _Em._: You certainly said five. _Maj._: Oh, Emily, supposing I’ve miscounted them! Listen now, keep count with me. Richard—that’s after me, of course. _Em._: One. _Maj._: Albert-Victor—that must have been in Coronation year. _Em._: Two! _Maj._: Maud. She’s called after— _Em._: Never mind who’s she’s called after. Three! _Maj._: And Gerald. _Em._: Four! _Maj._: That’s the lot. _Em._: Are you sure? _Maj._: I swear that’s the lot. I must have counted Albert-Victor as two. _Em._: Richard! _Maj._: Emily! (They embrace.) THE MOUSE