No, no--you tell things so roughly. My London Father is a name the school-girls gave you, Mr. Cheal, because you are my guardian in London and look after me. And when Mr. Murray began to come down to Helmstead about once a month to see that I was happy, they set about to invent some title for him too. And as I couldn’t have two fathers and I already had a real brother they called Mr. Murray my London Mother, because he was so thoughtful and tender, just as my school-fellows told me their mothers are. MR. CHEAL. H’m! Well, my dear, all that is very nice for school-girls, but it is what practical people call stuff and nonsense. I’ll go and get my hat. [_He goes out._] LESLIE. Mr. Cheal is angry. HUGH MURRAY. No, no. LESLIE. He is. He said “stuff and nonsense” the other day when I begged him to let me be married in a church, and now---- HUGH MURRAY. Ah, don’t think of Mr. Cheal’s very business-like manner. LESLIE. I can’t help it. Tell me, Mr. Murray, does everything simple become stuff and nonsense when you get married? HUGH MURRAY. How should I know, my child? I am an old bachelor. [_PRISCILLA beckons LESLIE._] PRISCILLA. Missy--Miss--you’re untidy again! LESLIE. Oh, no, don’t say that! [_PRISCILLA arranges LESLIE’S costume._] LESLIE. The little mirror, Priscilla. [_Surveying herself critically as the sunlight enters at the windows._] Priscilla, I’m getting uglier as the day wears on. PRISCILLA. I’m sure you’re quite good-looking enough for London, Miss. LESLIE. I’m not thinking about London. WILFRID BRUDENELL. [_Addressing HUGH._] That’s an odd picture for a lawyer’s musty office. HUGH MURRAY. Ay--imagine what would become of a plain matter-of-fact lawyer, sitting here scribbling day after day, if he could never get that vision out of his eyes. WILFRID BRUDENELL. Rather bad for his clients, eh? HUGH MURRAY. Yes, and bad for the lawyer. LESLIE. I hope the Registrar’s office is very dark, Mr. Murray. I particularly dislike my face to-day. PRISCILLA. [_Whispering to HUGH._] Ain’t she sweet and pretty, sir? HUGH MURRAY. Yes. PRISCILLA. A lucky gentleman Mr. Renshaw, sir. HUGH MURRAY. Ay. LESLIE. I heard that. Indeed Mr. Renshaw is not lucky at all. HUGH MURRAY. I think so. Why not? LESLIE. Because I am not worthy of him. You’re his friend, Mr. Murray, and you know how generous and true he is. I can tell you, my London Mother, that every night and morning since I have been engaged, I have prayed nothing but this, over and over again--“Make me good enough--good enough for Dunstan Renshaw!” [_HUGH moves away._] [_Looking at herself in the mirror._] I wish now I had added “make me a little prettier.” [_EPHGRAVES appears at the door._] EPHGRAVES. The carriage is here, sir. LESLIE and PRISCILLA. Oh! HUGH MURRAY. Tell Mr. Cheal. [_LESLIE is a little flurried, and PRISCILLA at once busies herself about LESLIE’S costume._] EPHGRAVES.