  Scene: The lounge and winter garden of the Grand Babylon Hotel. There are palms and flowers in profusion, and numbers of little tables, surrounded each by two or three chairs. Several people are seated, drinking coffee and liqueurs. At the back a flight of steps leads to the restaurant, separated from the winter garden by a leaded glass partition and swinging doors. In the restaurant a band is playing. Two or three waiters in uniform are standing about or serving customers. Ambrose Holland and Lady Wanley come out from the restaurant. He is a well-dressed, elegant man of five and thirty. She is a handsome widow of uncertain age. Lady Wanley. [Pausing at the foot of the steps.] Where shall we sit? Holland. Let us choose a retired corner where we can gossip in peace. Lady Wanley. Nonsense! I didn’t come to the Grand Babylon in order to blush unseen. I caught sight of a number of people during luncheon, who I’m quite determined shall catch sight of me now. Holland. I was sufficiently gallant to have eyes for you only. Lady Wanley. [Pointing to a table.] Shall we sit there? Holland. D’you mind sitting on the other side? The waiter’s rather a pal of mine. Lady Wanley. [Sitting down.] What queer friends you have. Holland. Waiter. A Waiter. [Coming forward.] Your waiter will be here in one minute, sir. Holland. [To Lady Wanley.] You see, I’ve knocked about in so many places that I have friends in every city in the world and every rank in life. Lady Wanley. I suppose you saw the Parker-Jennings? They were sitting three tables from us. Holland. I did. Lady Wanley. Do you know that she cut me dead when I came in? Holland. I’ve long told you that Mrs. Parker-Jennings is growing exclusive. Lady Wanley. But, my dear Ambrose, that she should have the impudence to cut me.... Holland. [Smiling.] I respect her for it. Lady Wanley. I’m much obliged to you. Holland. I don’t think it does much credit to her heart, but it certainly does to her understanding. She has discovered that a title nowadays is not nearly such a good passport to the world of fashion as she thought it was. She knows you’re as poor as a church mouse, and she’s realised that in Society the poor are quite rightly hated and despised by all who know them. Lady Wanley. Yes, but remember the circumstances. Five years ago the Parker-Jennings didn’t know a soul in the world. They’d lived in Brixton all their lives. Holland. It has been whispered to me that in those days they were known as Mr. and Mrs. Bob Jennings—not nearly so smart, is it? Lady Wanley. He used to go to the City every morning with a black bag in one hand and an umbrella in the other. Holland. I wish that confounded waiter would come. Lady Wanley. One day an uncle in the North, from whom they vaguely had expectations, died suddenly and left them nearly two millions. Holland. Some people are so lucky in the way they choose their uncles. Lady Wanley. He was a hardware manufacturer, and no one dreamt that he had a tenth part of that fortune. I came across them in Switzerland and found they were looking for a house. Holland. So, with a burst of hospitality, you asked them down to Taverner, and they took it for twenty-one years. Lady Wanley. I introduced them to every one in the county. I gave little parties so that they might meet people. And now, if you please, the woman cuts me. Holland. [Dryly.] You have left out an essential detail in the account of your relations with these good folk. Lady Wanley. Have I? Holland. [Smiling.] You have omitted to mention that when they took Taverner they agreed to pay an exorbitant rent. Lady Wanley. They could well afford it. Besides, it was a historic place. It was worth whatever I could get for it. Holland. Parker-Jennings may be very vulgar, but he’s as shrewd a man as you’d find anywhere between Park Lane and Jerusalem. Lady Wanley. I haven’t the least idea what you’re talking about. Holland. Haven’t you? Well, then, I venture to suggest that if Mr. Parker-Jennings gave you such an enormous rent for Taverner, it was on a certain understanding. He was wise enough to find out that people can live in Cheshire all their lives and never know a soul. I don’t suppose he put it in the agreement between you, but unless I am very much mistaken he took your place only on the condition that you should get every one to call. Lady Wanley. [After a brief pause.] I was crippled with mortgages, and I had to send my boys to Eton. Holland. Good heavens, I’m not blaming you. I only wish to point out that if you introduced Mrs. Jennings to your friends, it was a matter of business rather than of sentiment. Lady Wanley. [With a little laugh.] I suppose you think it’s very natural that she should wish to kick away the ladder by which she climbed. [A Waiter comes up to Holland. Waiter (Jack Straw). Yes, sir. Holland. Two coffees and two Benedictines. But you’re not my usual waiter. Where’s Pierre? Waiter. [Blandly.] He’s attending the funeral of an elderly female relative, sir. [Holland looks up quickly, and then stares in a puzzled way. Holland. I seem to know your face. Have I seen you anywhere? Waiter. [With a smile.] Mr. Ambrose Holland, I think. Holland. Jack Straw! What on earth are you doing here? Jack Straw. My dear fellow, it is possible to be no less of a philosopher in the uniform of a waiter at the Grand Babylon Hotel than in the gown of a professor at the University of Oxford. [He goes out. Lady Wanley. [Laughing.] It’s really very odd that waiters should address you as my dear fellow. Holland. What an extraordinary encounter! Lady Wanley. Please tell me who your friend is. Holland. I haven’t the ghost of an idea. Lady Wanley. My dear Ambrose. Holland. I first met him in the States. I was in considerable financial difficulties in those days—it’s three or four years ago now—and I got a small part in a travelling company. Jack Straw was a member of it, and we became great friends. Lady Wanley. Is that his name? Holland. So he assures me. Lady Wanley. It’s very improbable, isn’t it? Holland. Very. I believe Jack Straw was a highwayman, or something like that, and he’s given his name to a public-house in Hampstead. Lady Wanley. He must be an extraordinary man. Holland. He is. I don’t know whether I admire most his self-assurance or his resourcefulness. I spent with Lady Wanley. He sounds quite splendid. Holland. The worst of living with him was that you had no breathing-time. He’s a man with an uncontrollable love of adventure. Prosperity bores him to death, and time after time, when we’d managed to get out of rough water into smooth, he’d throw up everything for some wild goose chase. Lady Wanley. But who are his people? Holland. Heaven only knows. I know he isn’t English, though he speaks it wonderfully. Lady Wanley. Is he by way of being a gentleman? Holland. I can only tell you that he’s thoroughly at home in whatever society he finds himself. Lady Wanley. I daresay that’s not a bad definition of a gentleman. Holland. He’s sailed before the mast, been a bar-tender in New York, and an engine-driver on the Canadian Pacific. He’s been a miner up in the Klondyke, and he’s worked on a ranch in Texas. And if he’s a waiter now, I daresay he’ll be an organ-grinder next week, and a company-promoter the week after. I’ve seen half a dozen fortunes within his grasp, and he’s let them all slip through his fingers from sheer indifference to money. Lady Wanley. Here he is with the coffee. [Jack Straw comes in with coffee and liqueurs. Holland. I should be overwhelmed with confusion at allowing you to wait on me, if I did not feel certain that it appeals enormously to your sense of humour. Jack Straw. It has occurred to me that you will feel a natural hesitation about giving me a tip. I may as well tell you at once that I shall feel none about taking it. Holland. It’s thoughtful of you to warn me. How much do I owe you? Jack Straw. Two shillings the coffee and three shillings the liqueur. The prices seem exorbitant to me, but I Holland. [Putting down a coin.] Don’t bother about the change. Jack Straw. Half a sovereign. My dear fellow, when you offer me a tip of five shillings you are presuming unwarrantably on our former acquaintance. Holland. [Helplessly.] I’m sure I beg your pardon. Jack Straw. I will keep one shilling as an adequate remuneration for my services and return you four. Holland. I am overpowered by your condescension. Jack Straw. [To Lady Wanley, who has put a cigarette in her mouth.] Light, madam? Holland. I should like to ask you to sit down. Jack Straw. It would be eminently improper. Besides, I have other tables to attend to. But I shall be delighted Holland. It’s very kind of you. But will not your duties here detain you?... Mr. Straw—Lady Wanley. Jack Straw. [Bowing.] How do you do. I’m only engaged here for the afternoon. Your ladyship is aware that the lower orders make a speciality in the decease of elderly female relatives. Lady Wanley. I have often been impressed by the piety with which they bury their maternal grandmothers. Jack Straw. It appears that Pierre, an old acquaintance of mine, wished to attend the funeral of a widowed aunt, the relic of an egg importer in Soho, and a highly respectable person. Lady Wanley. I can well imagine that nothing could be more respectable than to import eggs to Soho. Jack Straw. The head-waiter, who is an excellent fellow, with female relatives of his own, promised to overlook his absence if he could find a substitute. Pierre, like myself, is a person of somewhat striking physique and could find no one able to wear his clothes. He Holland. I am relieved to hear that your appearance in this capacity is not due to embarrassed circumstances. Jack Straw. I deplore the hastiness of your reasoning. My circumstances are excessively embarrassed. Excuse me, I see some people who are proposing to sit at one of my tables. [Meanwhile people have been coming down from the restaurant and sitting at the various tables. Waiters have been handing them coffee. Horton Withers and Mrs. Withers come down, accompanied by the Rev. Lewis Abbott and Mrs. Abbott (Rosie). Jack Straw leaves Holland and Lady Wanley to attend to some people. Lady Wanley. There are the Withers. Why, they’ve got Rosie with them and her husband. [She gets up and goes towards the Withers, who are honest, simple people, not distinguished, but good-natured and kindly. Lewis Abbott is a nice-looking, frank young parson. Rosie is very pretty and fragile. She is simply dressed. Lady Wanley. [Smiling to Rosie.] My dear, what are you doing in this sink of iniquity? I am surprised to see you. And Lewis! [She shakes hands, evidently delighted to see them. Withers. We’ve brought them up to London for a little jaunt. Holland. Won’t you all sit at our table? There’s plenty of room. Withers. That’s very kind of you. [To his wife.] Fanny, you know Mr. Holland. Mrs. Withers. Yes, of course I do. How do you do, Lady Wanley. Lady Wanley. How do you do? Now you two young things must sit one on each side of me, and you must tell me all about Taverner. Rosie. Oh, we’re so happy there, and everything’s beautiful, and we just love the house. Lady Wanley. I don’t believe you know Mr. Holland. Ambrose, this is Rosie, Jasper Neville’s daughter. You knew him well, didn’t you? Holland. Of course I did. Lady Wanley. And this is Rosie’s husband and my new Vicar at Taverner. Abbott. It makes me feel awfully grand. Lady Wanley. I adore them both, so you must like them. These dear things were waiting to be married. Lewis was a curate in some dreadfully shabby suburb, and he’s a saint. Abbott. I wish you wouldn’t say such absurd things about me. Lady Wanley. Nonsense. He’s a saint, but quite a modern nice sort of saint, who plays cricket and doesn’t wear a hair shirt. And of course he couldn’t marry Rosie, who hadn’t a penny to bless herself with, but Providence came to the rescue and carried off our old Vicar with influenza. Rosie. What dreadful things you say, Lady Wanley! Lady Wanley. And the living’s in my gift, so I gave it to them, and there they are. Rosie. You have been nice to us. Lady Wanley. My dears, you’re the only really good people I’ve ever known in my life. I used to think my boys were till they went to Eton, and now I know they’re devils. Withers. We’re all under a debt of gratitude to you, Lady Wanley. Every one worships them in the parish. Abbott. Every one’s been very jolly, and they all try to make things easy for us. Mrs. Withers. You know, they will work so hard, we could hardly persuade them to come up to London for two or three days. Withers. I daresay you’ve heard that we’ve taken a little place near Taverner. Holland. Lady Wanley was telling me at luncheon. Lady Wanley. [To Rosie.] And are you enjoying yourself in London, darling? Rosie. [Enthusiastically.] Oh, it’s simply splendid. You don’t know what a treat it is to us to come to the Grand Babylon. It makes us feel so smart. And to-night we’re going to the Gaiety. Lady Wanley. [To Withers.] It’s very nice of you to be so good to these young people. Mrs. Withers. It’s a pleasure to us to see how they enjoy everything. Rosie. D’you know the Parker-Jennings are here? Isn’t it nice? They will be surprised when they see us, won’t they, Lewis? Mrs. Withers. [With a little sniff.] I see Maria Jennings has got a lord with her. Holland. Serlo, isn’t it? I thought I saw him. Withers. I suppose you know they’re trying to hook him for Ethel? Lady Wanley. Good heavens! Mrs. Withers. [With a shrug of the shoulders.] As long as he’s a Marquess, and he’s that all right, Maria Jennings don’t mind the rest. Lady Wanley. I hope Ethel will refuse to have anything to do with him. Rosie. She’s a dear, isn’t she? I’m so fond of her, and she’s simply devoted to Lewis. Lady Wanley. My dear, do you never say anything against any one? Rosie. [With a laugh.] Seldom. Everybody’s so nice. Lady Wanley. It must make conversation very difficult. But Ethel is a charming girl, and I shouldn’t like her to fall into the hands of that disgraceful young rip. Mrs. Withers. She’s the only one of the family who hasn’t had her head turned by all the money. Lady Wanley. Of course you knew Mrs. Jennings before she was the exalted person she is now. Mrs. Withers. Bless you, I’ve known her all my life. We went to the Brixton High School together, and I was a bridesmaid at her wedding. Why, we used to be popping in and out of one another’s houses all day long. Withers. And now, if you please, she’ll hardly look at us. Abbott. I’m afraid people don’t much like her at Taverner, but she’s done everything she could for us, and they’re awfully generous. Rosie. I don’t care what anybody says about her, she’s been perfectly sweet to me. She told me that I might come to the Hall whenever I wanted to, and I’m always dropping in to lunch there. Lady Wanley. Oh well, if they’re nice to you, I forgive them. Mrs. Jennings can cut me till she’s blue in the face. Rosie. Oh look, there’s the Count. [A distinguished-looking old man comes out of the restaurant and walks slowly down the steps. Lady Wanley. It’s Adrian von Bremer. How on earth d’you know him? Rosie. I don’t, but he’s rented a place in Cheshire, and he came to church once. Lady Wanley. It’s the Pomeranian Ambassador, you know. Mrs. Withers. I know him well by sight. Lady Wanley. I wish he’d come and talk to us. I should like to introduce Lewis to him. Holland. He’s as blind as a bat. I don’t suppose he’ll see us. [Meanwhile Von Bremer has reflectively put an eyeglass in his eye, and looks round as he walks out. He catches sight of Lady Wanley, and smiling, comes up to her. Von Bremer. How do you do. Holland. You look as if you were just going. Von Bremer. I am. I had my coffee in the restaurant. Lady Wanley. What is the news in Pomerania? Von Bremer. None except that our Emperor is growing old. All these domestic troubles of his are breaking him down. Lady Wanley. Poor old thing. Holland. I suppose nothing has been heard of the Archduke Sebastian? Von Bremer. Nothing. We’ve given up the search. Holland. [To Lady Wanley.] You remember that affair, don’t you? There was some quarrel in the domestic circle, and the Archduke Sebastian suddenly disappeared—four years ago, now, isn’t it?—and hasn’t been heard of since. He simply vanished into thin air. Lady Wanley. But how do you know he’s alive? Von Bremer. Every Christmas the Emperor receives a letter from him, sent from different parts of the world, saying he’s well and happy. Lady Wanley. It’s really very romantic. I wonder what on earth he’s doing. Von Bremer. Heaven only knows. Lady Wanley. Tell me, how is that nice young attachÉ of yours that I met at luncheon the other day. Von Bremer. The nice young attachÉ has come to a bad end. I’ve had to send him back to Pomerania. Lady Wanley. Really? Von Bremer. The story is rather entertaining. There’s an American woman here who has a passion for titles, and it occurred to my attachÉ one day to introduce his valet to her as Count So-and-So. Of course she was full of attentions and immediately asked the valet to dinner. Presently the story came to my ears. I really couldn’t have my attachÉs playing practical jokes of that sort, and so I sent him home. Lady Wanley. Poor boy, he was so nice. Von Bremer. Good-bye. Lady Wanley. Oh, may I introduce Mr. Abbott to you. He’s your new Vicar at Taverner. And this is Mrs. Abbott. You must be very nice to her. Von Bremer. I’m delighted to meet you. I’ve heard wonderful stories of your good works in the parish. Abbott. It’s very kind of you to say so. Von Bremer. [To Rosie.] If you will allow me I should like to call on you when I come down to Cheshire. Rosie. I shall be so pleased to see you. Von Bremer. Good-bye. [He bows and goes out. Rosie. Wasn’t it nice of him to say he’d call? You know, he never goes anywhere. Withers. I can see Mrs. Jennings’ face when she hears that the Count has been to see you, my dear. Holland. Why do you say that? Mrs. Withers. The Count lives next door to them in the country, and they’ve moved heaven and earth to know him, but he simply won’t look at them. Maria would give her eyes if he’d call on her. Rosie. How can you say such horrid things about her! [During the last two or three speeches Mr. and Mrs. Parker-Jennings come down the steps, followed by Ethel, Vincent and Serlo. Serlo goes over to talk to a flashily dressed girl at another table. Parker-Jennings is a little stoutish man, Rosie. Mrs. Jennings, I am so glad to see you. Mrs. Parker-Jennings. [Frigidly putting up her glasses.] Mrs. Abbott. Withers. Hullo, Bob, old man, how are the chicks? Parker-Jennings. We’re all in the best of ’ealth, thank you. Ethel. [Shaking hands with Mrs. Withers.] I was hoping we should have a chance of speaking to you. Mrs. Withers. What a picture you look, my dear! What’s the matter with Vincent? Why are you trying to look as if you’d never seen me before? Vincent. You’ll never allow me to forget you, Mrs. Withers. Mrs. Withers. No, I won’t. And many’s the time I’ve bathed you, my lad, in that little back room in St. John’s Road, Brixton, and don’t you forget that either. Rosie. [Enthusiastically to Mrs. Parker-Jennings.] Aren’t you surprised to see us here? Mr. and Mrs. Withers are giving us such a treat. Mrs. Parker-Jennings. I shouldn’t ’ave thought this quite the place for a clergyman’s wife to come to. I confess I’m surprised you should find time to leave your work at Taverner in order to gad about in London. [Rosie is taken aback by the snub, and her face falls. Rosie. But we’re only here for a day or two. We shall be home on Thursday. I was wondering if I might come up to luncheon as Lewis has got to go out. Mrs. Parker-Jennings. I’m expecting Lord Serlo’s mother and Lady Eleanor King to stay with me, so perhaps you’d better not come up to the ’all for a few days. I’m sure you understand, don’t you. I don’t want to ’urt [Rosie gives a little gasp. Ethel. [Indignantly.] Mother. Mrs. Parker-Jennings. I’ll let you know when it’s convenient for you to call. I’m afraid you’re a little inclined to be pushing, my dear. You don’t mind my telling you, do you? It’s not quite the correct thing in a clergyman’s wife. [She turns her back on Rosie, who is left gasping. She tries to choke her sobs, but tears of mortification roll down her cheeks. Lady Wanley. Oh, the cad, the cad. [She makes Rosie sit down and comforts her. Ethel. Mother, how could you. Mrs. Parker-Jennings. Hold your tongue, Ethel. I’ve been wanting to give those people a lesson for some time. Where’s our table, Robert? Parker-Jennings. There are some people sitting there, my dear. We shall ’ave to take this one. Mrs. Parker-Jennings. Didn’t you tell the waiter to reserve it? Waiter! Jack Straw. Yes, madam. Mrs. Parker-Jennings. You must tell those people that that table’s taken. Jack Straw. I’m very sorry, madam. Will this one not do instead? Ethel. Yes, mother. Let’s sit here. Mrs. Parker-Jennings. I’m not going to let people push me into any ’ole and corner they like. Vincent. Cheek, I call it. Parker-Jennings. Come on, sit down, mother. Mrs. Parker-Jennings. [Unwillingly taking her seat at a vacant table.] How often ’ave I told you not to call me mother? My name’s Marion; I’m sure you ought to know it by now. Parker-Jennings. Is it? I always thought it was Maria. Mrs. Parker-Jennings. [To Jack Straw.] What are you waiting there for? Jack Straw. I thought the gentleman wished to give an order, madam. Mrs. Parker-Jennings. Why didn’t you keep that table, eh? Jack Straw. I’m very sorry, madam, I daresay I misunderstood you. Mrs. Parker-Jennings. Don’t you know English? Jack Straw. Perfectly, madam. Mrs. Parker-Jennings. I don’t know what they want to engage these dirty foreigners for, they make me sick. Ethel. Mother, he can hear every word you say. Parker-Jennings. Two coffees, and bring all the liqueurs you’ve got. Jack Straw. Very well, sir, cigars or cigarettes? Parker-Jennings. Bring some cigars, and none of your twopenny stinkers. Bring the most expensive cigars you’ve got. I’ll soon show them who I am. Jack Straw. Very well, sir. [Exit. Ethel. Mother, how could you be so brutal to poor Rosie. What has she done to you? Mrs. Parker-Jennings. I wish you wouldn’t call me mother, Ethel. It sounds so common. Why don’t you call me mamma? Parker-Jennings. Who’s ’is lordship talking to? Vincent. Oh, that’s little Flossie Squaretoes. I’ll go and give her a look up in a minute. Mrs. Parker-Jennings. I wish you were a little more like your brother, Ethel. He knows ’ow to live up to ’is position. Vincent. Aitches, mater, aitches. Mrs. Parker-Jennings. Oh, you always say I drop my aitches, Vincent. Well, if I do I can afford it. Vincent. You’re wrong, mater, only the aristocracy can afford to drop their aitches. Mrs. Parker-Jennings. Oh, well, p’raps we shall be aristocracy one of these days, eh, Robert? Parker-Jennings. You leave it to me, my dear. If money can do it.... I say, ’is lordship lapped up that ’ock of mine at luncheon, didn’t he? Mrs. Parker-Jennings. I wish you could get out of that ’abit of yours of always looking at what people eat and drink. And what if he did lap it up. You didn’t put it there for people to look at, did you? Vincent. I say, Ethel, you needn’t have turned your back on him all the time. Ethel. I thought he drank too much. Vincent. Your ideas are so beastly middle-class. You mustn’t expect a man like Serlo to do things like—like the people we used to know at.... Mrs. Parker-Jennings. That’ll do, Vincent. We all know quite well where we used to live before your father’s poor uncle was taken, and you needn’t refer to it. [Ethel shrugs her shoulders impatiently.] It seems to me that Vincent and I are the only ones of the family who know ’ow to live up to our position. [Jack Straw comes up with the coffee and liqueurs. Another waiter hands round the cigars. Serlo rejoins them.] [Very affably.] Come and sit by me, Lord Serlo. Now what liqueurs will you ’ave? If there’s anything you fancy, you just ask for it. [Rosie gives a little sob. Lady Wanley. Oh, my dear, don’t, don’t. You mustn’t mind. Rosie. I feel so frightfully humiliated. She asked me to go to the hall whenever I felt inclined, and I thought she really meant it. I never knew that I wasn’t wanted. It’s so awful to know that they only thought me horribly pushing. Abbott. By Jove, I wish it had been one of the men. I should have liked to knock him down and stamp on him. Lady Wanley. My dear Lewis, how nice and unchristian of you! I always said you were just the right sort of saint for me. Mrs. Withers. Wouldn’t you like to come away now, my dear? Rosie. Oh yes, I feel I want to hide myself. Lady Wanley. Good-bye darling, don’t take it too much to heart. [The Withers, Abbott, and Rosie shake hands with Holland and Lady Wanley, and go out.] Did you ever hear anything so fiendish? Oh, if I could only make that woman suffer as she’s made poor little Rosie suffer. [Suddenly Lady Wanley gets an idea. She leans forward.] Ambrose. Holland. What’s the matter? Lady Wanley. I’ve got it. Holland. What d’you mean? Lady Wanley. One of these days Mrs. Jennings will give her eyes not to have insulted that poor child. I’m going to give her a lesson that she’ll never forget. Holland. She deserves pretty well anything that your feminine spite can suggest. Lady Wanley. I can do nothing without you, Ambrose. Holland. Don’t ask me to do anything very disreputable. Lady Wanley. I’ve got her in the hollow of my hand, Ambrose. Holland. Well? Lady Wanley. Don’t you remember that story Adrian von Bremer told us about the attachÉ? Let’s try it on Mrs. Jennings. Holland. But.... Lady Wanley. Oh, don’t make any objections. You must remember. He introduced his valet to a woman as a foreign nobleman of sorts. Holland. I’m bound to say I thought it a very silly trick. Lady Wanley. I have no patience with you. Think how exactly the punishment fits the crime. What a triumph it Holland. Who? Lady Wanley. Your friend the waiter. I’m sure he’ll do it if you ask him. He’ll look upon it as an adventure. Holland. I don’t think he’d do it. He’s an odd fellow. Lady Wanley. Oh, but ask him. There can be no harm in that. Holland. It’s all very well. But one has to consider the possible complications. Lady Wanley. There can’t be any complications. We only want to punish an insolent snob who’s wantonly insulted a woman who never hurt a fly in her life. [Jack Straw comes up to their table. Jack Straw. Have you done with the Benedictine, sir? Lady Wanley. Mr. Straw, will you do something for me? Jack Straw. Anything in the world, madam. Lady Wanley. Mr. Holland tells me you’re a man of spirit. Jack Straw. Pray tell Mr. Holland he’s a man of discernment. Lady Wanley. Are you ready still for any adventure that comes your way? Jack Straw. So long as I can do it with clean hands. Lady Wanley. Dear me. Jack Straw. I daresay your ladyship thinks it odd that a waiter should have susceptibilities. Holland. Let me tell you at once that I highly disapprove of Lady Wanley’s idea. Jack Straw. Then pray let me hear it. You always disapprove of everything that is not hopelessly commonplace. Lady Wanley. You told us just now that you were only temporarily engaged here. Jack Straw. Quite right, madam. Lady Wanley. You see those people over there—two women and three men? Jack Straw. The elder lady was so amiable as to call me a dirty foreigner. Lady Wanley. They’re the worst sort of parvenus. I think they’re the greatest snobs in London. I have a little grudge against them. Jack Straw. Yes? Lady Wanley. [Slightly embarrassed.] I want to introduce you to them—as a foreign nobleman. Jack Straw. [Giving her a searching look.] Why? Parker-Jennings. [Loudly.] Waiter. Lady Wanley. It would amuse me to see them fawn upon you. [A pause. Jack Straw. No, I’m afraid I can’t do that. Lady Wanley. [Frigidly.] Then we’ll say no more about it. Parker-Jennings. [Loudly.] Waiter. Jack Straw. [Going to him.] Yes, sir. Parker-Jennings. Why the devil don’t you hurry up. I’ve called three times. Jack Straw. [Blandly.] I’m very sorry, sir. I was engaged at another table. Parker-Jennings. You seem to think you can keep me waiting all day. I suppose that’s why you’re called a waiter. Mrs. Parker-Jennings. Robert, don’t make jokes with menials. Parker-Jennings. I’ve got a good mind to report you to the management. Ethel. Papa, he came as quickly as he could. Parker-Jennings. This coffee’s disgusting. I don’t know what you make it out of. It tastes like ditchwater. Jack Straw. I’m very sorry, sir. Let me get you some more. Parker-Jennings. And look sharp about it, or you’ll find yourself decorated with an order you don’t know in your country. Jack Straw. I beg your pardon, sir? Parker-Jennings. The order of the boot. Vincent. I can’t think why they don’t have English waiters in a smart hotel like this instead of these damned foreigners. Parker-Jennings. Now then, look slippy. [Jack Straw has fixed his eyes on Ethel. She has been looking down. She gives him a glance. He takes the coffee things and gives them to another waiter. Ethel. [Her voice trembling with indignation.] How can you talk like that to a man who can’t defend himself! It’s so cowardly to insult a servant who daren’t answer. Vincent. I should think not indeed. I should like to see any servant answer me. Mrs. Parker-Jennings. You never ’ave learnt ’ow to treat servants, Ethel. You always talk to them as if they was one of ourselves. I wish you could take a leaf out of Vincent’s book. Treat ’em like dirt, and they’ll respect you. [Jack Straw, having given instructions to the waiter, goes to Holland and Lady Wanley. Jack Straw. I’m willing to do what you asked me to. Holland. Why have you changed your mind? Jack Straw. To tell you the truth I’m perfectly indifferent to the rudeness and the vulgarity of your friends, but I think I should like to know that young lady. Holland. Would you, by Jove! Jack Straw. When her father insulted me, the most ravishing colour came into her pale cheeks, and she looked at Lady Wanley. And is that enough to make you change your mind? Holland. Fortunately Mr. Straw is not in the habit of falling in love, or I should refuse to hear anything more of this cracked-brained scheme. Lady Wanley. When will you be ready? Jack Straw. I’m ready now. It’s three o’clock, and Pierre is waiting in the basement to put on this uniform. Lady Wanley. We couldn’t find a better place than this to effect an introduction. Jack Straw. Give me two minutes to change my clothes, and I am at your service. Lady Wanley. You have indeed an adventurous spirit. Jack Straw. But I must make one condition—two, in fact. Lady Wanley. What are they? Jack Straw. Well, although you have glided over the point with singular discretion, it is plain that you do not want me to assume a certain character merely in order to enjoy a private snigger at the expense of these amiable people. Lady Wanley. I don’t think I know what you mean? Jack Straw. Madam, it is always dangerous to count too much on the stupidity of one’s fellows. We shall arrange this matter much better if you realise that I’m a person of some shrewdness. Holland. Go on. Jack Straw. It is evident that you wish these good folk to take me to their bosom in order that you may have the opportunity of telling them one day that I’m merely an impostor. Lady Wanley. I really hadn’t thought about that. Jack Straw. I venture to suspect that you rate your intelligence too low. Lady Wanley. Well, what is your condition? Jack Straw. The position will be very humiliating to me. For all I know it may bring me into uncomfortable relations with the police. Holland. I think the whole plan had better be dropped. It will lead to endless bother. Jack Straw. I have no wish to drop it. You want to revenge yourself on some people who have insulted you. I, for reasons of my own, am willing to help. But I make the condition that you do not disclose the truth till I give you leave. I promise not to withhold it unreasonably. Lady Wanley. I accept that. And the second condition? Jack Straw. Is very easy. I insist that you should behave towards me, whether we’re alone or in public, as you naturally would if I were really the individual I propose to personate. Lady Wanley. That’s only fair. Now who can we suggest that you should be? Holland. You’d better try and invent some character who you’re quite sure doesn’t exist. Lady Wanley. We want something very extravagant and high-sounding. Jack Straw. Pray do not put yourselves to the trouble of thinking. You will introduce me to your friends as the Archduke Sebastian of Pomerania. Holland. What! Lady Wanley. But that’s a real person! Jack Straw. To invent an imaginary one would be ridiculous. Your friends would only need to look in the Almanack de Gotha to discover the fraud. Lady Wanley. But Count von Bremer was talking to us about him just now. The Archduke Sebastian is the man who mysteriously disappeared. Jack Straw. It’s because his whereabouts are unknown that he’s the safest person to choose. Holland. You would never be able to pass yourself off for an Archduke. Jack Straw. Strange as it may seem to you, a royal prince eats, drinks, breathes, and behaves generally very much like men of baser clay. Lady Wanley. You’d be found out in a week. Jack Straw. But how do you know I’m not the Archduke Sebastian? Holland. [With a scornful laugh.] You look it. Lady Wanley. But you’d want a suite and all sorts of things. Jack Straw. The man is notoriously eccentric. I think it very likely that the company of a stuffy old Colonel of Dragoons would bore him to death. Holland. It’s preposterous. Jack Straw. You may either take it or leave it. I will be the Archduke Sebastian or nobody. Lady Wanley. After all, Mrs. Jennings will probably never have heard of this trumpery Archduke. Jack Straw. And if she has, what more probable than that, having had enough of retirement, he should enter once more upon the position which is his by rights? Lady Wanley. [Looking at Holland.] It makes the joke infinitely better. Jack Straw. You must make up your minds at once. Lady Wanley. Ambrose, let’s toss. Heads it is, and tails it isn’t. Holland. All right. [He tosses a coin.] Tails. Lady Wanley. I said, tails it is, didn’t I?... I’m willing to risk it. Jack Straw. Give me two minutes. [He goes out. Holland. Heaven only knows what will be the end of it. [Lord Serlo comes up to them. Serlo. Hello, Ambrose. How’s life? How d’ye do? Lady Wanley. What have you been doing? Serlo. I’ve been lettin’ Jennings’ Patent Hardware stand me a lunch. My word, that old woman’s so vulgar she just about takes the roof of your head off. Holland. Why do you lunch with people you thoroughly despise? Serlo. Despise ’em! I don’t despise people who’ve got eighty thousand a year. They’re trying to hook me for their girl. Holland. And are you proposing to—throw yourself away? Serlo. She’s a very neat-steppin’ little filly—swallowed a poker in her childhood—regrettable accident in the nursery, don’t you know, but sound in wind and limb and all that sort of thing. Lady Wanley. I admire your romantic air. Serlo. Whoever talked of romance? There’s half a million down on one side and an old-established marquisate on the other. Holland. When is the happy event to take place? Serlo. Well, as soon as we can get over a triflin’ impediment. Lady Wanley. What’s that? Serlo. Well, the filly’s kicking. Have to put a red ribbon on her tail, don’t you know. Lady Wanley. She’s refusing the coronet you lay at her feet? Serlo. Won’t touch it with the fag end of a barge pole. I was sittin’ next to her at lunch, and she simply turned Lady Wanley. [Laughing.] And how d’you like Vincent? Serlo. Rotten bounder. Can’t stick him at any price, knows too many lords for me. When he’s my brother-in-law—hoof him out, don’t you know—double quick march. Pretty Polly’s all very well but I’m not takin’ her family. Can’t do it for half a million, don’t you know. Must be practical. [Vincent comes up to them. Vincent. How d’you do, Lady Wanley? I saw you driving with Lady Mary Ware yesterday. Such a nice girl, isn’t she? I suppose you know her brother Tregury, don’t you? Great pal of mine at Oxford. Lady Wanley. He’s my second cousin, Mr. Jennings, and he pronounces his name Tregary. Vincent. Oh yes, of course. I always used to call him Tregury for fun. Lady Wanley. Did you? Holland. You have a very keen sense of humour. Vincent. I was just having an argument with the mater as to what relation he was to the Duke of Sherwin. Lady Wanley. I’m afraid I haven’t your intimate knowledge of the peerage, but I should think the only relation they’ve had in common for the last two centuries is that lamented monarch, Charles II. Vincent. [To Serlo.] Nice chap, Sherwin. Serlo. Dunno him. Vincent. Don’t you? Not know Sherwin? I must introduce you to him. I’m sure he’d like to know you. Thorough sportsman. Serlo. Is he? Vincent. Yes, rather. I saw him looking on at a cricket match the other day. Great pal of my governor’s, you know. Thorough English gentleman. Serlo. They’d get on well together. Lady Wanley. [To Holland.] Here is our friend. Jack Straw comes in, hat and cane in hand. He wears a very smart suit, tail coat, grey trousers, &c. Jack Straw. I’m so sorry I couldn’t come to lunch with you. [He shakes Lady Wanley’s hand, she slightly curtsies to him. Mrs. Jennings nudges her husband, and they both stare with all their eyes. Lady Wanley. It’s very good of you to have come now, sir. Jack Straw. Ah, my dear Holland, you are looking the picture of health. Holland. It’s very kind of you, sir. Lady Wanley. May I introduce Lord Serlo to you? Jack Straw. [Shaking hands with him.] How d’you do. I think your father was ambassador in Pomerania for some time. Serlo. Yes, he was. Holland. [Surprised.] How did you know that—sir? Jack Straw. I remember him quite well. He used to play with me when I was a little boy. I was so sorry to hear of his death. Serlo. He wasn’t a bad old buffer. Kept me dooced short of money, though. Jack Straw. [Gaily.] But unless you introduce me to Lord Serlo he won’t know who on earth I am. Lady Wanley. I thought every one knew, at least by sight, the—Archduke Sebastian of Pomerania. Jack Straw. You talk of me as if I were a notorious character. [Meanwhile Vincent has been making frantic signs to be introduced, coughing and shuffling on his feet. Jack Straw looks at him through his eyeglass.] Won’t you introduce your friend to me? Lady Wanley. Mr. Vincent Parker-Jennings. Vincent. I’m very proud and honoured to make your Royal Highness’s acquaintance. Jack Straw. It’s very polite of you to say so. Vincent. I’ve always had a great sympathy for Pomerania. Most wonderful country in Europe, that’s what I always say. Jack Straw. I will tell my grandfather you think so. He will be pleased and flattered. Vincent. I haven’t ever been there, you know, sir. But I know all about it through Adrian von Bremer. Holland. [Hastily.] Your ambassador lives quite near Mr. Jennings. Jack Straw. Oh yes. Vincent. His place marches with ours, don’t you know. He’s a great pal of my people’s. Jolly old thing, isn’t he, sir? Thorough sportsman. That’s what I call a gentleman. Jack Straw. I seem to know your name so well. Lady Wanley. Mr. Parker-Jennings is the great philanthropist. He’s provided books to put in all Mr. Carnegie’s free libraries. Jack Straw. What a noble act. I should very much like to make his acquaintance. Vincent. He’s sitting over there with my mother and sister. Shall I go and fetch him, sir? Jack Straw. It’s very kind of you to take so much trouble. Holland. [To Jack Straw in an undertone.] For goodness sake be careful. Jack Straw. [Putting up his eyeglass.] I beg your pardon, I did not catch what you said.... Pray repeat it. Holland. [Embarrassed.] It was of no consequence, sir. Mrs. Parker-Jennings. [To Vincent.] Who is he, Vincent? I saw ’er curtsey to him. Vincent. Come along, pater. He wants to be introduced to you. Mrs. Parker-Jennings. I’m coming too, Vincent. Vincent. Awfully jolly chap. Archduke Sebastian. What ho! Parker-Jennings. But look here, Vincent, I don’t know how to talk to Royalty. How shall I address him? Vincent. Oh, that’s all right. Say Sir wherever you can slip it in and when you can’t say Royal Highness. [Jack Straw comes forward a little with Lady Wanley. Lady Wanley. This is Mrs. Parker-Jennings. Jack Straw. [Shaking hands with her.] I’m delighted to make your acquaintance. [Turning to Parker-Jennings.] I have often heard of you, Mr.... Mr.... Lady Wanley. [Prompting.] Parker-Jennings. Jack Straw. [With a relieved smile.] Mr. Parker-Jennings. I’m sure I wish we had in my country more men of your public spirit and disinterestedness. Parker-Jennings. [Very nervously.] I try to do my little best, you know, sir, your Royal Highness. Jack Straw. Won’t you introduce me to your daughter? Parker-Jennings. I’m sure, sir, your Royal Highness is very affable. Ethel! [Ethel slowly comes forward, and curtsies. He looks at her steadily, takes her hand and kisses it. Vincent. [In an undertone.] What ho!
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