these Somersetshire people. They’re such an obstinate, pig-headed lot.
MRS. INSOLEY.
I prophesied it forty years ago. When they first introduced all this
nonsense about education, I said it was a serious matter.
ARCHIBALD.
[_With a twinkle in his eye._] Like all good prophets you apparently
took care to be rather vague about it, mother.
MRS. INSOLEY.
Considering you weren’t born I don’t see what you can know about it,
Archibald. I said this would happen. I said they would make the lower
classes so independent that no one would be able to do anything with
them. I went for a walk in the village this morning and nobody took any
notice of me. Isn’t that so, Louisa?
MISS HALL.
No, Mrs. Insoley.
MRS. INSOLEY.
What do you mean by no, Louisa?
MISS HALL.
[_Hastily._] I beg your pardon. I mean yes, Mrs. Insoley.
MRS. INSOLEY.
A few old men touched their hats, and one old woman curtsied, but that
was all.
CLAUDE.
[_With a little nod._] Of course it’s not important in itself, but it’s
the sign of a change. The long and short of it is that they don’t look
up to their betters as they used to.
GRACE.
[_Ironically._] Perhaps they’ve ceased to realise that we are their
betters.
CLAUDE.
It’s not too late to teach them their mistake. Personally I mean to be
master in my own house.
GRACE.
[_Abruptly._] Peggy Gann came to see me this afternoon, Claude.
CLAUDE.
Did she?
[_There is a very short pause._ COBBETT _sees what is going to
happen and gets up_.
COBBETT.
[_To_ EDITH LEWIS.] Wouldn’t you like to come for a stroll in the
garden?
EDITH LEWIS.
Yes.
GRACE.
I’ve asked her to fetch her father.
[COBBETT _and_ EDITH LEWIS _go out_.
CLAUDE.
[_Without waiting for the movement._] I’m sorry you did that, Grace.
I’ve got nothing to say to him.
GRACE.
[_To_ MRS. INSOLEY.] Do you know that Claude has threatened to dismiss
Gann if Peggy hasn’t gone by ten o’clock to-night?
MRS. INSOLEY.
For once in his life Claude has acted with spirit. He gave Gann
twenty-four hours to think it over. My father would have given him
fifteen minutes.
GRACE.
Why was it all kept from me? It seems that everybody knew but me.
CLAUDE.
Hang it all, Grace, I wanted to tell you last night and you wouldn’t let
me.
GRACE.
[_Startled._] Oh! Was it that? I didn’t know.... Claude, I want you to
be very kind and forgive that wretched girl. I want you to tell Gann
that she needn’t go.
CLAUDE.
[_Quite firmly._] My dear, I can’t do that. I’ve made up my mind and I
must stick to it.
GRACE.
Why?
CLAUDE.
Hang it all, what would happen to the discipline of the estate if I were
always shilly-shallying? Every one in the place knows that when I say a
thing I mean it. It’s an enormous advantage to all concerned.
GRACE.
[_With a coaxing smile._] It wouldn’t do any harm if you made an
exception just this once.
CLAUDE.
It’s a matter of upholding my authority. Gann refused to do what I told
him, and I had to threaten him with immediate dismissal. I couldn’t eat
my words now without looking a perfect fool.
GRACE.
Don’t you think it’s awfully unjust to send a girl away because she’s
got into trouble?
CLAUDE.
It’s a rule of the estate. I didn’t make it.
GRACE.
[_Turning to_ MISS VERNON.] Helen, you’re a woman. You must see how
cruel it is. Can’t _you_ say something to help me?
MISS VERNON.
I don’t know what else one’s to do. After all, we have the same rule at
Foley.
CLAUDE.
They have it on half the large estates in the kingdom. It’s absolutely
essential if one has any regard for decency.
MISS VERNON.
I don’t suppose it would be so common, and it certainly wouldn’t have
lasted so long, if there hadn’t been some good in it.
GRACE.
[_Violently._] Oh, it’s maddening. Always, always, there’s that stone
wall in front of me. Whatever is, is good. However cruel and unjust a
custom is, no one must touch it because it’s a custom. If a law is
infamous, does it become any less infamous because people have suffered
from it for a dozen generations?
MRS. INSOLEY.
Perhaps you’re not very competent to judge matters of this sort, my
dear.
ARCHIBALD.
I’m afraid your sympathy is rather wasted in this particular case. Peggy
Gann isn’t a very deserving young woman.
GRACE.
If she were, there’d be no need for me to plead for her.
MRS. INSOLEY.
On those lines the more of a hussy a girl is the more she’s deserving of
sympathy.
GRACE.
[_To_ ARCHIBALD.] You had nothing against her till this happened.
ARCHIBALD.
Nothing very definite. She was always rather cheeky, and she never came
to Sunday-school very regularly.
GRACE.
Is that all?
MRS. INSOLEY.
My own belief is that the Ganns are really Dissenters.
GRACE.
[_Impatiently._] Good heavens, they positively revel in going to church.
MRS. INSOLEY.
That may be or it may not. But they give _me_ the impression of chapel
people.
ARCHIBALD.
Heaven knows, I don’t want to seem hard and unsympathetic, but after
all, you’re not going to keep people moral if you pamper those who
aren’t.
GRACE.
And what d’you think’ll happen to her if you make her leave here?
ARCHIBALD.
We’ll do our best for her. It’s not a pleasant position for any of us,
Grace. I’ve been wretched about the whole thing, and I’m sure Claude has
too.
CLAUDE.
Of course I have. But hang it all, in our position we can’t afford to
think of sentiment. Especially now that they’re attacking us all round
we’ve got to show them that we can keep a firm hand on the reins.
ARCHIBALD.
Do us the justice to see that we’re really trying to do what’s right. It
may be very wrong that we should be in our particular positions, and we
may be quite unworthy of them. But we didn’t make society, and we’re not
responsible for its inequalities. We find ourselves in a certain
station, and we have to act accordingly.
CLAUDE.
The long and the short of it is that it’s our duty to look after those
whom Providence has placed in our charge. And it’s our duty to punish as
well as to reward.
GRACE.
Oh, how hard you are! One would think you’d never done anything in your
life that you regret. [_With increasing violence._] Oh, you virtuous
people, I hate you. You’re never content till you see the sinner
actually frizzling. As if hell were needed when every sin brings its own
punishment! And you never make excuses. You don’t know how many
temptations we resist for the one we fall to.
MISS VERNON.
Grace! What are you saying!
[GRACE, _almost beside herself, looks at her with haggard eyes.
Suddenly she gives a start, and stares at_ MISS VERNON _with
horror. She has realised that_ MISS VERNON _knows the relations
that have existed between her and_ HENRY COBBETT. _There is a
pause. The_ BUTLER _comes in_.
MOORE.
Gann and his daughter are here, sir.
CLAUDE.
Oh, yes, I’ll come at once.
MOORE.
Very good, sir.
[_He goes out._
MRS. INSOLEY.
Why shouldn’t he come here, Claude?
GRACE.
Yes, let him come by all means. And then you can see for yourselves.
ARCHIBALD.
I’ll tell Moore, shall I? [_He goes to the door as he says this and
calls._] Moore. Tell Gann to come here.
MISS VERNON.
[_Rising._] I think I’ll leave you. This isn’t any business of mine.
[_To_ MISS HALL.] Will you come with me?
MISS HALL.
Do you want me, Mrs. Insoley?
MRS. INSOLEY.
No. You’ve had no exercise to-day, Louisa. You’d better walk three times
round the garden.
MISS HALL.
I’m not very well to-day, Mrs. Insoley.
MRS. INSOLEY.
Oh, nonsense! You’re in the best of health. And you can take the dog
with you.
MISS HALL.
Very well, Mrs. Insoley.
[MISS VERNON _and_ MISS HALL _go out_.
MRS. INSOLEY.
Louisa’s very troublesome sometimes. She fancies she’s not feeling well.
But she’s twenty-five years younger than I am, and I’ve never had a
day’s illness in my life.
[MOORE _opens the door for_ GANN, _who comes into the room, cap in
hand, and stands at the door awkwardly. He is in his working
clothes._
CLAUDE.
Good afternoon, Gann.
GANN.
Good afternoon, sir. Peggy said you wished to see me, sir.
GRACE.
_I_ asked her to bring you here, Gann. I thought it would be better if
you spoke to Mr. Insoley.
GANN.
I’ve got nothing to say to Mr. Insoley, ma’am.
CLAUDE.
I was hoping to find you in a more reasonable state of mind, Gann. You
know, you can only hurt yourself by being pig-headed and stubborn.
GANN.
I didn’t know as how I was, sir.
CLAUDE.
[_To_ GRACE.] You see, the man doesn’t give me a chance.
GANN.
[_Making an effort on himself._] Please, Squire, I come to know if I’m
really to go to-morrow? I know you said you’d send me away, Squire. But
I couldn’t bring myself to believe you meant it.
CLAUDE.
I’m willing to listen to anything you’ve got to say. I want to be quite
fair to you.
GANN.
If I could only make you see as what you ask ain’t possible, I’m sure
you’d let us stay. There’s nowhere Peggy _can_ go to.
CLAUDE.
Hang it all, Mrs. Insoley’ll do all she can for her. You may be quite
sure that Peggy shan’t want for money.
GANN.
It isn’t money the girl wants. If I send ’er away she’ll just go to the
bad altogether.
CLAUDE.
You see, it’s a matter of principle, Gann. It would be devilish unjust
to make an exception in your favour.
GANN.
[_Stepping forward with surly indignation and facing_ CLAUDE.] I love
the girl and I can’t bear to part with ’er. She’s a good girl in her
’eart, only she’s had a misfortune.
CLAUDE.
That’s all very fine and large, Gann. But if she’d been a good girl,
hang it all, she’d have had power to resist temptation.
GRACE.
[_Terrified._] Claude, you don’t know what you’re saying.
CLAUDE.
I don’t want to rub it in and all that sort of thing, but my own feeling
is that if she came rather a cropper, it was because she was--if you
don’t mind my saying so--because she was that way inclined. I don’t
think anyone can accuse me of being a hard man, but I’m afraid I haven’t
much pity for women who....
GRACE.
[_Interrupting._] Claude, don’t go on--for God’s sake.
GANN.
That’s your last word, Squire? If the girl don’t go, I must?
CLAUDE.
I’m afraid so.
GANN.
I’ve served you faithful, man and boy, for forty years. And I was born
in that there cottage I live in now. If you turn us out where are we to
go to? I’m getting on in years, and I shan’t find it easy to get another
job. It’ll mean the work’us.
CLAUDE.
I’m very sorry. I can’t do anything for you. You’ve had your chance and
you’ve refused to take it.
[GANN _turns his cap round nervously. His face is distorted with
agony. He opens his mouth to speak, but no words come, only an
inarticulate groan. He turns on his heel._
CLAUDE.
In consideration of your long service I’ll give you fifty pounds so that
you can tide over the next few months.
GANN.
[_Violently._] You can keep your dirty money.
[_He goes out._ GRACE _goes up to_ CLAUDE _desperately_.
GRACE.
Oh, Claude, you can’t do it. You’ll break the man’s heart. Haven’t you
any pity? Haven’t you any forgiveness?
CLAUDE.
It’s no good, Grace. I must stick to what I’ve said.
GRACE.
It’s not often I’ve begged you to do anything for me.
CLAUDE.
Well, hang it all, this is the first time I’ve ever refused.
GRACE.
[_Bitterly._] I suppose because I’ve never asked you for anything before
that wasn’t absolutely trifling.
MRS. INSOLEY.
Why are you making such a point of it, Grace?
GRACE.
Is it very strange that I should feel sorry for anyone who’s in
distress?
CLAUDE.
I’ll do anything in the world to please you, darling, but in this case
you must trust to my better judgment.
GRACE.
How can you be so hard?
CLAUDE.
Come, Grace, don’t be angry with me. It’s bad enough as it is.
MRS. INSOLEY.
I have no patience with you, Claude. When your father made up his mind
to do anything it was done, and it would never have occurred to me to
oppose him.
ARCHIBALD.
[_With a twinkle in his eye._] You forget, mother, that was because you
generally made up my father’s mind some time before he did.
GRACE.
[_To_ MRS. INSOLEY _and_ ARCHIBALD.] Will you leave me alone with
Claude. I must talk to him alone.
ARCHIBALD.
Come, mother. Let me take you for a stroll three times round the garden.
[MRS. INSOLEY _and_ ARCHIBALD _go out_.
GRACE.
I couldn’t say it before them. They’d never understand. They’d only
sneer. But can’t you see, Claude, that it’s out of the question to drive
Gann away so callously? He loves the place just as much as you love
it.... In my heart I seem to feel suddenly all that his shabby little
cottage means to him--the woods and coverts and the meadows and the
trees. His life is bound up with Kenyon. His roots are in the earth as
if he were a growing thing. Can’t you see what it must mean to him to
leave it?
CLAUDE.
He only goes because he’s headstrong and obstinate. He’s the
Somersetshire peasant all over. You do your best for them and you get no
gratitude. You try to reason with them, but you can’t get a single idea
into their thick heads.
GRACE.
You can’t punish him because he’s stupid and dull. You’re throwing him
upon the world in his old age. It means starvation.
CLAUDE.
You must know that I’m only doing it because I think it’s my duty.
GRACE.
[_Impatiently._] Oh, men always talk of their duty when they want to be
odiously cruel.
CLAUDE.
Grace, how can you be so unkind to me?
GRACE.
Oh, Claude, if you love me at all, give in to me this time. You don’t
know what it means to me. I’ve often been horrible to you, but I’m going
to be different. I want to love you. I want to be more to you than I’ve
ever been. Claude, I implore you to do what I ask you--just because I
ask it, because you love me.
CLAUDE.
[_Withdrawing himself a little._] I could not love you, dear, so much,
loved I not honour....
GRACE.
[_Interrupting passionately._] Oh, no, don’t, Claude; for God’s sake be
sincere and natural. Can’t you forget that you’re a landed proprietor
and a J.P. and all the rest of it, and remember that you’re only a man,
as weak and as--as frail as the rest of us? You hope to be forgiven
yourself, and you’re utterly pitiless.
CLAUDE.
My darling, it’s just as much for your sake that I’m firm.
GRACE.
[_Impatiently._] Oh, how can you make phrases! What on earth have I got
to do with it?
CLAUDE.
Hang it all, don’t you see that it’s because of you that I can’t give
way? It’s beastly having to say it. It makes me feel such an ass.
GRACE.
[_Beginning to be frightened._] What have I got to do with it?
CLAUDE.
Until I knew you I don’t suppose I had a higher opinion of women than
most men, but you taught me what a--what a stunning fine thing a good
woman is.
GRACE.
[_Hoarsely._] It’s perfectly absurd. It’s--it’s unreasonable. I’ve not
been.... Only the other day you said I was cold. And just now you told
me I was unkind.
CLAUDE.
I dare say that’s all my fault. I expect I bore you sometimes. After
all, I know you’re worth about six of me. I can’t expect you to love me
as I love you.
GRACE.
D’you mean to say that if I weren’t--what you think me, you wouldn’t
insist on that poor girl going away?
CLAUDE.
I don’t suppose I should feel quite the same about it.
GRACE.
[_Trying to keep back her sobs._] It’s so unreasonable.
CLAUDE.
Even if it weren’t for the rule of the estate, I couldn’t let her live
in the same place as you. I can’t help it. It’s just a sort of instinct.
It simply disgusts me to think that you may meet that--that woman when
you walk about, and her kid.
GRACE.
Oh, Claude, you don’t know what you’re saying.
CLAUDE.
When I heard she’d been here and you’d been talking to her, I felt
almost sick.
GRACE.
[_Breaking down._] Oh, I can’t bear it.
CLAUDE.
Come, darling, don’t let’s quarrel any more. It hurts me so awfully.
GRACE.
[_To herself._] Oh, I can’t. I can’t.
CLAUDE.
Say you forgive me, darling.
GRACE.
I?... If I weren’t what you.... Oh, it’s too much to ask anyone. Claude,
I beseech you to give way.
[_He shakes his head. She falls back in despair, realising that
there is no way to move him._
GRACE.
Oh, what a punishment!
[_The sound of a gong is heard._ CLAUDE _looks at his watch_.
CLAUDE.
By Jove, I had no idea it was so late. There’s the dressing gong. You
must hurry up.
GRACE.
[_Looking at him vaguely._] What is it?
CLAUDE.
Time to dress for dinner, darling. You won’t be late, will you? You know
how mother hates to be kept waiting.
GRACE.
[_Dully._] No, I won’t be late.
[_He takes her hand and presses it, then hurries out. She has given
him her hand inertly, and it falls heavily to her side as he drops
it. She remains standing where he left her. She tries to stifle the
tearless sobs that seem to choke her. The_ BUTLER _comes in_.
MOORE.
Peggy Gann wishes to know if you want to see her again, madam.
GRACE.
[_With a start._] Has she been waiting all this time?
MOORE.
Yes’m. She didn’t know as Gann had left. He never come back to the
servants’ hall.
GRACE.
Tell her to come here.
MOORE.
Very good, madam.
[_He goes out. In a moment he opens the door for_ PEGGY GANN.
GRACE.
Oh, Peggy, how ill you look! I’ve been able to do nothing for you.
PEGGY.
[_With a cry of distress._] Oh, mum, I was hoping. You said you’d do
your best for me.
GRACE.
My dear, I’m so dreadfully sorry for you.
PEGGY.
It’s so ’ard on me, mum, and so ’ard on father. Wasn’t there something
more you could do, mum?
GRACE.
[_With a little gasp of anguish._] I did all I could. I couldn’t do
anything more. I couldn’t really.... [_Almost to herself._] It’s too
much to ask anyone.
PEGGY.
I’ve got to go then, and there’s an end of it. You won’t let father be
turned away, will you, mum? That’s all I care about now. It ’ud just
break his ’eart.
GRACE.
[_With a ray of hope._] D’you think he’ll let you go? I think it’s the
best thing after all, Peggy. I’ve done--I’ve done all I could.
PEGGY.
No, he won’t hear of it. But I shall go all the same--somewhere he can’t
find me.
GRACE.
[_Anxious now to make the best of it._] I dare say it won’t be for very
long, Peggy. Have you as much money as you want? I should like to do
something for you.
PEGGY.
I shan’t want anything, thank you, mum. And thank you for all you’ve
done. And if anything come to ’appen to me, you’d see as the baby wasn’t
sent to the workhouse, wouldn’t you, mum?
GRACE.
How d’you mean? I don’t understand.
PEGGY.
I’m not going to take the baby with me, mum. It would only be a
hindrance.
GRACE.
[_With a sigh of relief._] Oh, I was so afraid you meant....
PEGGY.
Is there anything else you want me for, mum?
GRACE.
No, Peggy.
PEGGY.
Then I’ll say good evening, mum.
GRACE.
Good evening, Peggy.
[_She watches_ PEGGY _go out, then she gives a little moan of
despair_.
GRACE.
No, I couldn’t, I couldn’t.
EDITH LEWIS _comes in gaily_.
EDITH LEWIS.
There you are! I thought you were in your room. Your maid said you
hadn’t come up yet.
GRACE.
[_Wearily._] I was just going.
EDITH LEWIS.
[_With a smile._] I’ve got something dreadfully important to ask you.
GRACE.
[_Forcing a smile._] What is it?
EDITH LEWIS.
Well, I want to know if you’re going to wear the grey satin you wore on
Saturday. You see, I only brought three dinner dresses down with me, and
one of them’s a grey, only it’s much more slaty than yours, and it’ll
look so cold beside it. So I shan’t put it on if you’re going to wear
yours.
GRACE.
[_Dully._] No, I won’t wear my grey satin.
EDITH LEWIS.
What are you going to wear?
GRACE.
I don’t know.
EDITH LEWIS.
But you must know.
GRACE.
Does it matter?
EDITH LEWIS.
I don’t want to clash with you.
GRACE.
[_Clenching her hands to prevent herself from screaming._] I won’t put
on anything that’ll interfere with your grey.
EDITH LEWIS.
Thank you. Now I can be quite happy. I say, we shall be so late.
[_She runs off._ GRACE _gives a little answering laugh to hers; and
as_ EDITH LEWIS _goes out, it lengthens into a mirthless, low,
hysterical peal, broken with sobs_.
END OF THE SECOND ACT
THE THIRD ACT
[_The dining-room at Kenyon Fulton. It is a fine room with French
windows leading into the garden. On the walls are departed Insoleys
of the last two or three generations, stiff ladies and gentlemen of
the Victorian era, military-looking fellows in the uniform of the
early nineteenth century, and ungainly Georgian squires with their
wives in powdered hair. Between the windows, standing well away
from the wall, rather far back, is a round table laid out for
breakfast. On the Sheraton sideboard is a cloth, a stand for
keeping dishes warm, a large ham, and plates and forks and spoons.
Against the wall opposite the sideboard are a row of chairs, and
there are half a dozen chairs round the table. There are doors
right and left._
_It is the morning after the events which occur in the Second Act,
and when the curtain rises prayers have just finished._ CLAUDE _is
seated at the table with an immense prayer-book and a still larger
Bible in front of him. The rest of the party are rising to their
feet. They have been kneeling against various chairs. They consist
of_ MRS. INSOLEY, MISS HALL, _and_ MISS VERNON. _Well away from
them, emphasising the fact that even the Almighty must recognise
the difference between the gentry and their inferiors, have been
praying the servants. They have been kneeling against the row of
chairs that line the wall, according to their precedence, ranging
from the_ COOK _at one end to the_ BUTLER _at the other; and they
consist of the_ COOK, _obese, elderly and respectable_, MRS.
INSOLEY’S MAID, _two_ HOUSEMAIDS, _the_ KITCHENMAID, _the_ FOOTMAN,
_and_ MOORE _the butler. When they have scrambled to their feet
they pause for a moment to gather themselves together, and, headed
by the_ COOK, _walk out. The_ BUTLER _takes the Bible and the
prayer-book off the table and carries them away_. CLAUDE _gets up.
He takes up his letters and the_ Times, _which he puts under his
arm_.
MRS. INSOLEY.
I didn’t see Grace’s maid, Claude.
CLAUDE.
I dare say Grace couldn’t spare her.
MRS. INSOLEY.
If Grace were more punctual she wouldn’t be obliged to deprive her maid
of the pleasure and the duty of attending morning prayers.
MISS HALL.
I didn’t see your maid either, Miss Vernon.
MISS VERNON.
She’s a Roman Catholic.
MRS. INSOLEY.
A Papist, Helen? Isn’t that very risky?
MISS VERNON.
Good gracious me, why?
MRS. INSOLEY.
Aren’t you afraid she’ll corrupt the other servants?
MISS VERNON.
[_With a smile._] She’s a highly respectable person of well over forty.
MRS. INSOLEY.
She must be very flighty. I would as soon have an atheist.
MISS HALL.
I would never dream of having a Romish maid myself.
MRS. INSOLEY.
Is there any likelihood of your having a maid at all, Louisa?
MISS HALL.
No, Mrs. Insoley.
MRS. INSOLEY.
In that case I can’t quite see what is the use of your having an opinion
on the subject.
CLAUDE.
[_Looking up from his letters, with a smile._] Miss Hall was only making
a general reflection.
MRS. INSOLEY.
I don’t like general reflections at the breakfast table.
[_During the next few speeches the_ BUTLER _and the_ FOOTMAN _come
in with covered entrée dishes which they put on the sideboard,
coffee and milk in silver pots, and tea. They go out._ CLAUDE
_retires to the window to read his letters_.
MRS. INSOLEY.
I suppose you have prayers at Foley, Helen?
MISS VERNON.
I’m afraid I don’t. It makes me feel rather shy to read them.
MRS. INSOLEY.
I don’t see why it should. It doesn’t make me feel shy.
MISS HALL.
You read them so well, Mrs. Insoley.
MRS. INSOLEY.
I never forget while I’m reading them that I’m a woman of birth and a
woman of property.
MISS VERNON.
And then I always think the servants hate them.
MRS. INSOLEY.
The more they hate them, the better it is for them. That is life, my
dear Helen. It’s a very good thing to begin the day by making it
distinctly understood that masters are masters and servants are
servants.
MISS HALL.
And I think servants like that, Mrs. Insoley.
MRS. INSOLEY.
It is not a matter of interest to me if they like it or not, Louisa. I
have the authority of my maker for it, and that is quite enough for me.
CENTER
HENRY COBBETT _comes in_.
COBBETT.
I’m sorry I’m late.
MRS. INSOLEY.
When breakfast’s at ten o’clock I cannot imagine why people shouldn’t be
punctual.
COBBETT.
Neither can I. [_Going to the sideboard._] Let’s have a look at the
food.
MRS. INSOLEY.
See if there’s anything I’d like, Louisa.
COBBETT.
[_Taking off the covers._] There’s fried sole--eggs and bacon.
MRS. INSOLEY.
The staple of every middle-class hotel in the kingdom.
COBBETT.
And devilled kidneys.
MRS. INSOLEY.
I’ll begin with fried sole, and then I’ll have eggs and bacon, Louisa.
CLAUDE.
[_Coming forward._] Oh, I’m sorry. Is there anything I can get you?
MRS. INSOLEY.
[_Chaffing her fellow-guest._] And then, if Mr. Cobbett has left any,
perhaps I’ll see if I can eat a devilled kidney.
COBBETT.