_Helen._ Not at all! If you had been polite you would have given that cup to Rose. As for his lordling, do you for an instant suppose that I intend to compete as long as Rose and Amy are here? No, sir—I leave him to my betters, _D. V._ _Mrs. W._ Well, really, I don’t think that either his titles or his being in the hands of an oculist is any excuse for making his time so indefinite (_looks at letter_). He will be charmed to pay me a visit, “by next Friday, or perhaps even sooner.” Now isn’t that a nice position to leave a hostess who wishes to make his stay quite as pleasant as his papa made mine when I was at the “Towers.” Imagine this betitled being getting into the Junction by the evening train and then having to walk over to Beechcroft. _Rose._ Oh, wouldn’t it be lovely to see him coming in at the gate, so wet and muddy that Tiger would make the same mistake that he did with that poor minister? _Dennis._ I hope, if he does have to foot it, he will not bring the usual number of parcels that the swells on the other side consider as necessary as those books which Charlie Lamb said “no gentleman should be without.” _Amy._ Mrs. Wycherly, how can this man be two earls at once? _Steven._ The English aristocracy finds it convenient to have an alias now and again. _Mrs. W._ I’m not sure, Amy, but I believe it has something to do with his mother. I never could understand the peerage. _George._ Ye gods! to think of a mother with a marriageable daughter not understanding the peerage! _Helen._ I won’t be slandered by you. Marriageable daughter, indeed! _Rose (scornfully)._ Yes, isn’t that a regular man’s view of it? _Dennis._ Well, I think it’s very creditable to be without a peer. _Amy._ That depends on how you appear. _Rose._ And that depends on your _appear age_. _George (pityingly)._ Don’t notice them; they’re quite harmless. Speaking of the peerage, though, did any of you see Labouchere’s screed in “Truth”? _Mrs. W._ I haven’t, for one—what was it? _George._ Bass, the proprietor of the pale ale, has just been made a baron, and this was an editorial on the “Last Addition to the Beerage.” _Amy._ Mrs. Wycherly, do let me have the letter: I want to see what kind of a hand he writes. [MRS. W. _passes letter to_ AMY. _Dennis._ There! That’s the way in this life. I’ll be bound you never wanted to see what my writing was like. _Rose._ Well, did you ever want to see Amy’s hand? _Steven._ Hers is too small to make it worth while. _Amy (sweetly)._ _Is_ your tea sweet enough, Steven? _Dennis._ Why waste your sweetness on the desert air? _Steven._ Thank you, Dennis, but I am not a deserted heir, and don’t suppose I shall be, till The Right Honourable George Augustus Guelph Dunstan, Earl of Ferrol and Staunton, puts in his appearance. Till then, Mrs. Amy Sherman Micawber will never desert her Steven.