If you're a nice, honest man--as you look--you'll take her away, and never, either of you, show your ugl--show your faces here again. MR. JOSEPH LEBANON. Ah, Lady T., now we come to the aim and object of the mornin' call which I have the 'appiness of making on you. Fan, you haven't explained to Lady T. You really must cut in. MRS. GAYLUSTRE. I shan't. Explain yourself. [LEBANON rises, replacing his chair.] MR. JOSEPH LEBANON. My dear Lady T., the long and the short of it is that Fan and I have considerable social ambition. LADY TWOMBLEY. You too! Not _you_! MR. JOSEPH LEBANON. And why not? Fanny, cut in! MRS. GAYLUSTRE. Go on, Jo dear. MR. JOSEPH LEBANON. Lady Twombley, it has been the desiah of Fan and self, ever since that period of our lives which I may describe as our checkered child'ood, to reach the top of the social tree. LADY TWOMBLEY. Hah! MR. JOSEPH LEBANON. Lady Twombley, you'll pardon my remarking that you are a little trying. I say, Fan and I desiah to reach the top of the social tree, where the cocoanuts are. Excuse my humour. Fan's had a whirl or two in the circles of fashion. LADY TWOMBLEY. She! A hanger-on to the skirts of Society! MR. JOSEPH LEBANON. And very good skirts too when she makes 'em. MRS. GAYLUSTRE. Jo, drop that. MR. JOSEPH LEBANON. Excuse my humour, Fan. As for me, from those early boy'ood's days when I made temporary advances of ha'pence to my sister Fanny, promptly and without inquiry, I have devoted myself to finance. LADY TWOMBLEY. Finance! MR. JOSEPH LEBANON. But now, Lady T--to use a poetic figure--I am prepared to cut an eight on the frozen lake of gentility. LADY TWOMBLEY. Man! MR. JOSEPH LEBANON. I ignore the innuendo. Lady Twombley, I am aware that for a successful _entree_ into Society I requiah a--ha--a substantial guarantee. I 'ave, therefore, the honour and the 'appiness to put myself under your sheltering and I 'ope sympathetic wing. LADY TWOMBLEY. You--you will drive me mad! You won't dare to call here, to contaminate my bell-handle, to send up your hideous name! MR. JOSEPH LEBANON. Oh, Fan, I really can't! This is descendin' to a mere wrangle. Pray cut in. MRS. GAYLUSTRE. No, Lady Twombley, as the Season is drawing to a close, Joseph certainly does not intend to attach himself to your London establishment. MR. JOSEPH LEBANON. Not for Joseph--excuse my humour. MRS. GAYLUSTRE. But he and I do mean to take our flight from town with the rest of the swallows. [Pointing to a paragraph in the journal she still carries.] Look here, we saw this paragraph in the paper yesterday. Read it. [LADY TWOMBLEY knocks the paper to the ground.] LADY TWOMBLEY. Insolent! MRS. GAYLUSTRE. Jo, pet--read it. MR. JOSEPH LEBANON.