Mrs. Perkins (rehearsing). I wonder why it is that once a woman
gives her heart into another's keeping--(Bell.) Ah, the bell. It
must be he at last. He is late this evening.
Enter Miss Andrews as maid, with card on tray.
Miss Andrews. Lady Amaranth, me luddy.
Yardsley. Lydy, Miss Andrews, lydy--not luddy.
Miss Andrews. Lydy Amaranth, me lady.
Yardsley. And please be consistent with your dialect. If it's Lydy
Amaranth, it's Lydy Ellen.
Miss Andrews. Lydy Amaranth, me lydy.
Mrs. Perkins. What? Lydy Amaranth? She?
Yardsley. Oh dear! Excuse me, Mrs. Perkins, but you are not the
maid, and cockney isn't required of you. You must not say lydy.
Lady is--
Mrs. Perkins (resignedly). What? Lady Amaranth? She? What can she
want? Show her up. [Exit Miss Andrews.
Perkins. That's a first-class expression for an adventuress. _Show
her up_! Gad! She ought to be shown up.
Mrs. Perkins. What can she want?
Enter Mrs. Bradley.
Mrs. Bradley. Ah, my dear Lady Ellen! What delight to find you at
home! (Aside.) He is not here, and yet I could have sworn--
Mrs. Perkins. To what am I to attribute this pleasure, Lady
Amaranth? I do not presume to think that you have come here without
some other motive than that of a mere desire to see me. I do not
suppose that even you pretend that since the contretemps of Tuesday
night at the Duchess of Barncastle's our former feeling--
Mrs. Bradley. Ellen, I have come to tell you something. To save you
from a vile conspiracy.
Mrs. Perkins. I am quite well able, Lady Amaranth, to manage my own
affairs--