LADY TWOMBLEY. Imogen! Child, what has happened to your head? IMOGEN. I--I've been playing marbles, mamma. LADY TWOMBLEY. Not on your head? IMOGEN. No, mamma, upon the floor. LADY TWOMBLEY. With Sir Colin? IMOGEN. Certainly not, mamma; I don't know Sir Colin nearly well enough to sit with him upon the floor. [Putting up her hair.] LADY TWOMBLEY. Darling, has Sir Colin made any remark of an interesting nature? IMOGEN. No--he stammered a little, and, while my back was turned, he ran away after his mammy. LADY TWOMBLEY. [To herself.] I knew it! Why didn't we lock him in till he had provided for my poor child's future? [PROBYN enters.] PROBYN. Mrs. Gaylustre is here, my lady. IMOGEN. Oh, that person! [IMOGEN snatches up the box of playthings and hurries out. MRS. GAYLUSTRE enters. PROBYN retires.] MRS. GAYLUSTRE. [To everybody.] How d'ye do? How d'ye do? Lord Drumdurris, charmed to see you. How are you, Brooke? BROOKE TWOMBLEY. [To himself.] Brooke! Impudence! MRS. GAYLUSTRE. You look bilious, Kate. [She kisses LADY TWOMBLEY, who sinks on to the settee.] BROOKE TWOMBLEY. [To DRUMDURRIS.] It's too bad of the Mater! Fancy a fellow making a chum of his tailor--what? EARL OF DRUMDURRIS. Mr. White, may I speak to you? [BROOKE, DRUMDURRIS, and VALENTINE go out.] MRS. GAYLUSTRE. [Examining the flute.] Pa has been tootling again, Kate--we must buy him a drum. LADY TWOMBLEY. Ah--h--h--h! MRS. GAYLUSTRE. Hullo! What's the matter? LADY TWOMBLEY. As if you didn't know! Oh, those awful bits of paper! MRS. GAYLUSTRE. Still worrying about those little Bills of yours which my brother Joseph holds, eh? LADY TWOMBLEY. Those Bills! Why doesn't the ink fade that's on them, or the house burn that holds 'em? MRS. GAYLUSTRE. Impossible. Joseph and I have been taught to believe that there is a special Providence watching over all Bills of Exchange. Come, don't fume--Bill Number One doesn't fall due till next month. LADY TWOMBLEY. Oh, Gaylustre, I shan't be able to meet it. MRS. GAYLUSTRE. Shan't you? Well, I dare say Jo and I will renew--if you make much of us and pet us. Meanwhile, don't think of the Bills. LADY TWOMBLEY. Think of 'em! I eat them--they're on every _menu_; I drink them--they label the champagne. My pillows are stuffed with them, for I hear their rustle when I turn my restless head. Small as those strips of blue are, they paper every wall of my home! MRS. GAYLUSTRE. I should drive out, then, as much as possible. LADY TWOMBLEY. When I do the sky is blue! MRS. GAYLUSTRE. [Carelessly taking up a newspaper.] At what time do we leave here? LADY TWOMBLEY. Sir Julian and I start at twelve. MRS. GAYLUSTRE. See that I'm not squeezed up in the carriage. I don't play at sardines in this gown. LADY TWOMBLEY. Oh! MRS. GAYLUSTRE. Talking of sardines, I shall lunch here to-day, _en famille_. LADY TWOMBLEY. Gaylustre! you fiend! I--I can't stand it. MRS. GAYLUSTRE.