I know. Tell the old gentleman. [_To Saunders._] He knows. [_To Rankling._] He knows. [_ With a simultaneous gesture they pocket the notes and go to find their seats at table. They all sit. The lobster salad and the pâté have been placed by Tyler at the end of the table. Tyler now enters carrying nine large plates which he places before Queckett._] QUECKETT. [_ With assumed composure and good spirits. _] There is a spontaneity about our jolly little supper which will perhaps, ah'm! atone for any absence of elaboration. RANKLING. Don't name it, Mr. Queckett. MALLORY. Just as it should be, my dear fellow. [_Tyler goes out._] QUECKETT. The language of the heart is simplicity. Our little supper is from the heart. MALLORY. Ah, I shall never forget your little suppers in the Albany--where were they from? QUECKETT. Gunters', Jack. [_With a groan._] Oh! [_ Jane, at the door, hands to Tyler a very small pudding in a silver basin, which he places before Queckett._] RANKLING, MALLORY, AND SAUNDERS. [_To themselves._] The pudding! [_They exhibit great eagerness to get a view of the pudding. _] PEGGY. [_Behind Mallory's bach._] Oh, how shameful it looks! QUECKETT. [_Falteringly._] Here is a homely little dish which has fascinations for many, though I never touch it myself--I never touch it myself. [_Rankling, Mallory and Saunders exchange significant looks._] Ah'm! A pudding made of larks. [_He glances round, all look down, there is deep silence._] A pudding--made--of larks. [_To Dinah._] My dear--a very little? DINAH. No, thank you, Uncle. QUECKETT. Perhaps you're right. Gwendoline, a suggestion? GWENDOLINE. No, thank you, Uncle. QUECKETT. [_To Peggy._] Margaret, I know what your digestion is--I won't tempt you. [_To Ermyntrude._] Ermyntrude--the least in the world? ERMYNTRUDE. No, thank you, Uncle. QUECKETT. [_To himself._] Ah! How lucky! PEGGY. [_To herself!_] Brave girls; I was afraid they'd falter. QUECKETT. [_Heartily.'_] Now then--Admiral Rankling? RANKLING. No, thank you. No pudding? I haven't long dined, thank you, Queckett. QUECKETT. [_ To Reginald--coldly._] May I? REGINALD. [_Distantly.'_] I never eat suppers, thank you. QUECKETT. [_To Saunders._] My dear Mr. Saunders? SAUNDERS. No, Mr. Queckett, thank you. QUECKETT. [_Getting desperate--to Mallory._] Jack--a lark? MALLORY. No, thanks, old fellow. QUECKETT. Well, I--[_Throwing down his knife and spoon, and leaning back in his chair. To Tyler._] Take it away! [_Tyler removes the pudding; they all watch its going._] TYLER. [_Handing it to Jane._] Keep it warm, Jane. JACK. A lobster salad and a small pâté de foie gras are at your end of the table. MALLORY. [_Looking round.'_] May I? [_There is a general reply of "No, thank you," expressed in symbols by the ladies._] PEGGY. [_ To herself _] Poor girls, what sacrifices they make for these men! MALLORY. [_ With a plate in his hand._] May I--? RANKLING, SAUNDERS, AND REGINALD.