_Imogen._
_How_ do you know?
_Tom._
Guessed.
_Imogen._
Quite right; and a thousand other annoyances. And at last I took it into
my head to consult Mr. Clandon, who married an aunt of mine and lives at
Streatham, and he'll lend me five hundred pounds.
_Tom._
What for?
_Imogen._
Towards taking a theatre.
_Tom._
[_Dubiously._] Five hundred----
_Imogen._
It's all he's good for, and he won't advance that unless I can get a
further five, or eight, hundred from some other quarter.
_Tom._
What theatre!
_Imogen._
The Pantheon happens to be empty.
_Tom._
Yes; it's been that for the last twenty years.
_Imogen._
Don't throw wet blankets--I mean--[_referring to her tablets, which she
carries in her muff_] I've got it all worked out in black and white.
There's a deposit required on account of rent--two hundred pounds.
Cleaning the theatre--[_looking at Tom_] what do you say?
_Tom._
Cleaning that theatre?
_Imogen._