[Kneeling beside him.] Think of my blessed chicks--my babies. Don't go under, Julian, till we've given them the benefit of our magnificent position---- SIR JULIAN TWOMBLEY. Our mag---- LADY TWOMBLEY. Wait till my Brooky--our Brooky--has won some handsome, wealthy girl who is worthy of him. Hold on till Imogen has made a marriage that will make every true mother's mouth water. Then I'll settle down with you alone, in a marsh. But don't sink into obscurity till the end of the year! I can do wonders by Christmas! Give me till then, pa--give me till then! [She throws her arms round his neck. IMOGEN's harp is heard again. MRS. GAYLUSTRE enters.] MRS. GAYLUSTRE. The wretches! how they ignore me! [Seeing SIR JULIAN and LADY TWOMBLEY.] Ah! [Hiding herself behind a pillar she listens.] SIR JULIAN TWOMBLEY. But--but--but if I desperately cling to public life a little longer I must have money. LADY TWOMBLEY. Of course--of course you must have money. But, Julian, you must look to me for that. SIR JULIAN TWOMBLEY. You, Katherine! LADY TWOMBLEY. You must think only of your value to the country, and--leave the rest to your wife. SIR JULIAN TWOMBLEY. Kitty, you have made some little private hoard out of your allowance! LADY TWOMBLEY. [Sinking faintly onto the settee.] Well, pa. SIR JULIAN TWOMBLEY. How prudent! How thoughtful! LADY TWOMBLEY. Go--go to Dora. Make my excuses. I'll follow you when I've pulled myself together. SIR JULIAN TWOMBLEY. Yes, yes. [Turning.] By the way, Kitty, Hopwoods have just sent in their bill for erecting this conservatory. LADY TWOMBLEY. [Clinging to the back of the chair.] Oh! SIR JULIAN TWOMBLEY. You remember I transferred, at your request, seven thousand some odd pounds to your account at Scott's when we projected the--h'm!--pardonable little extravagance? LADY TWOMBLEY. Y--yes. SIR JULIAN TWOMBLEY. Hopwoods can wait till midsummer. Perhaps you wouldn't mind letting me have the use of the money in the meantime? LADY TWOMBLEY. No, certainly not. SIR JULIAN TWOMBLEY. A cheque any day this week---- LADY TWOMBLEY. All days are equally convenient. SIR JULIAN TWOMBLEY. Kitty, I _will_ hold on till Christmas! LADY TWOMBLEY. Thank you, pa--I---- [She turns to him suddenly.] Oh, pa, I haven't got--I haven't--I---- SIR JULIAN TWOMBLEY. Haven't what, Kitty? LADY TWOMBLEY. N--nothing. Go--go to Dora. [He goes out.] Oh! where shall I turn for money? Where shall I turn? Where shall I turn--for money? [MRS. GAYLUSTRE advances and faces LADY TWOMBLEY.] Ah! Mrs. Gaylustre! MRS. GAYLUSTRE. Oh, Lady Twombley, I am in such distress! LADY TWOMBLEY. Distress! MRS. GAYLUSTRE. [Producing LADY TWOMBLEY's letter to BROOKE.] I picked up a letter in the next room. I thought it was the note you wrote me about the plum-coloured _peignoir_ and that it had fallen from my pocket. I glanced at it. Oh, look! [She hands the letter to LADY TWOMBLEY.] LADY TWOMBLEY. Gracious! MRS. GAYLUSTRE.