FANNY. I didn’t know he was Lord Bantock. I only knew him as Mr.
Wetherell, an artist. He wanted to feel sure that I was marrying him for
himself alone. He never told me—[_Ernest Bennet_, _a very young
footman_, _has entered in answer to Bennet’s ring of a minute ago_. _He
has come forward step by step_, _staring all the while open-mouthed at
Fanny_. _Turning_, _she sees him beside her_.] Hulloa, Ernie. How are
the rabbits? [_She kisses him_.]
BENNET. Don’t stand there gaping. I rang for some wood. Tell your
brother dinner will be at a quarter to eight.
_Ernest_, _never speaking_, _still staring at Fanny_, _gets clumsily out
again_.
FANNY. Well, I suppose I’d better see about dressing? Do I dine with
his lordship or in the servants’ hall?
MRS. BENNET [_turns to her husband_]. You see! Still the old
impertinence.
FANNY. Only wanted to know. My only desire is to give satisfaction.
BENNET [_he moves towards the door_]. You will do it by treating the
matter more seriously. At dinner, by keeping your eye upon me, you will
be able to tell whether you are behaving yourself or not.
MRS. BENNET. And mind you are punctual. I have appointed Jane to be
your maid.
FANNY. Jane!
MRS. BENNET [_in arms_]. Have you any objections?
FANNY. No, oh no, so long as you’re all satisfied.
MRS. BENNET. Remember, you are no longer on the music-hall stage. In
dressing for Bantock Hall you will do well to follow her advice.
_Bennet_, _who has been waiting with the door in his hand_, _goes out_;
_Mrs. Bennet follows_.
JANE [_in the tones of a patient executioner_]. Are you ready?
FANNY. Quite ready, dear. Of course—I don’t know what you will think of
them—but I’ve only brought modern costumes with me.
JANE [_not a lady who understands satire_]. We must do the best we can.
[_She marches out—into the dressing-room_.]
_Fanny_, _after following a few steps_, _stops and thinks_. _Ernest has
entered with the wood_. _He is piling it in the basket by the fire_.
_His entrance decides her_. _She glances through the open door of the
dressing-room_, _then flies across to the desk_, _seats herself_, _and
begins feverishly to write a telegram_.
FANNY. Ernie! [_He comes across to her_.] Have you still got your
bicycle?
ERNEST. Yes.
FANNY. Could you get this telegram off for me before eight o’clock? I
don’t want it sent from the village; I want you to take it
_yourself_—into the town. There’s a sovereign for you if you do it all
right.
ERNEST. I’ll do it. Can only get into a row.
FANNY. Pretty used to them, ain’t you? [_She has risen_. _She gives
him the telegram_. _She has stamped it_.] Can you read it?
ERNEST. “George P. Newte.”
FANNY. Hush!
_They both glance at the open door_.
ERNEST [_he continues in a lower voice_]. “72A, Waterloo Bridge Road,
London. Must see you at once. Am at the new shop.” [_He looks up_.]
FANNY. That’s all right.
ERNEST. “Come down. Q.T. Fanny.”