SCENE: _A sitting-room in the GREAT BROXOPP’S house in Queen’s Gate. Being the room in which he is generally interviewed, it is handsomely furnished, as befits a commercial prince. The desk with the telephone on it, the bookcase, the chairs and sofa, the mantelpiece are all handsome. But what really attracts your eye is the large picture of the baby, looking at you over the end of his cot, and saying: “I am a Broxopp baby—are you?” At least, he says so on the posters; this is the original, in a suitable gold frame, for which JACK BROXOPP sat twenty-three years ago._ (_BENHAM, the new butler, is discovered answering the telephone._) * * * * * BENHAM (_at telephone_). Hello.... Mr. Broxopp is not here for the moment, sir. Can I take a message?... To ring Mr. Morris up some time this morning. Yes, sir.... Thank you, sir. (_He walks back to the door and meets ALICE coming in._) ALICE. Oh, Mr. Benham, I was looking for you. There’s a young woman, name of Johns, just come to see the master. Would you wish to show her up yourself, Mr. Benham? You see we’re not used to a gentleman with us downstairs. It’s all so new to us. When you were with His Grace—— BENHAM. Who is this young woman? ALICE (_giving card_). She comes from one of the newspapers. BENHAM (_reading_). “Miss Honoria Johns. Contributor to _The Queen_ and other leading journals.” (_Contemptuously_) What does she want? An interview? ALICE. She didn’t say, Mr. Benham, but I expect that’s what she wants. BENHAM. I’ll send her away. Bless you, I had to send hundreds of them away when I was with His Grace. ALICE (_alarmed_). Oh, but I don’t think Mr. Broxopp would like that. BENHAM (_staggered_). Do you mean to say that he wants to be interviewed? ALICE. Oh, I’m sure he does. But I suppose he’s gone to his office. Oh no, he hasn’t, because there’s his hat. BENHAM (_scandalised_). His hat? Has he only got one hat? ALICE. Only one that he wears. What the papers call the “Broxopp hat.” BENHAM (_to Heaven_). If anybody had told me a year ago that I should take service in a house where we only wore one hat—but there! God moves in a mysterious way, His wonders to perform. ALICE. Oh, but it isn’t as if Mr. Broxopp was just an ordinary gentleman. You mustn’t think that, Mr. Benham. BENHAM. You all make too much of your Mr. Broxopp, my girl. After all, who is he? What’s his family? ALICE. Well, there’s only Mr. Jack, of course. BENHAM (_contemptuously_). Mr. Jack isn’t “family,” my girl. Mr. Jack is “hissue.” Not but what Mr. Jack is very well in his way. Eton and Oxford—I’ve nothing to say against that, though I happen to be Cambridge myself. But who’s the family? Broxopp! There isn’t such a family. ALICE. Well, but I’m sure he’s very rich, Mr. Benham. BENHAM. Rich, yes, but what does he _do_ with his money? Does he hunt or shoot? Does he entertain? Has he got a country-house?