ENTINE WHITE.

Worse. There's no ceremony about fever. No, Brooke, I was snubbed by a
major in the Kalahari Desert, because I didn't dress for dinner.

BROOKE TWOMBLEY.

Then we heard of you herding filthy cattle in Mexico.

VALENTINE WHITE.

Yes, at Durango. I enjoyed that, till some younger sons of the nobility
came out and left cards at my hut. I afterwards drove a railway engine
in Bolivia.

BROOKE TWOMBLEY.

By Jove, how awful--what! Wasn't that sufficiently beastly rough?

VALENTINE WHITE.

My dear fellow, would you believe it--I got hold of a stoker who was a
decayed British baronet! The affected way in which that man shovelled on
coals was unendurable. So I've come back, hopelessly wise.

BROOKE TWOMBLEY.

Serve you right for kicking at refinement and good form and all that
sort of thing. What!

VALENTINE WHITE.

[Mimicking BROOKE.] Varnish, and veneer, and all that sort of
thing--what!

BROOKE TWOMBLEY.

Oh, confound you! Well, you'll dine here at a quarter to eight, Val,
won't you?

VALENTINE WHITE.

Dine in Chesterfield Gardens! Thirteen courses and eight wines! Heaven
forgive you, Brooke.

BROOKE TWOMBLEY.

Look here, you shall eat on the floor with a wooden spoon.

VALENTINE WHITE.

Thank you--even your floors are too highly polished. Tell Aunt Kitty and
little Imogen that I shall walk in Kensington Gardens to-morrow morning
at ten.

BROOKE TWOMBLEY.

Little Imogen! Haw, haw!

VALENTINE WHITE.

Well?

BROOKE TWOMBLEY.

I think it will pretty considerably wound your susceptibilities to hear
that my sister Imogen is being presented by the Mater this afternoon.

VALENTINE WHITE.

[In horror.] Presented!

BROOKE TWOMBLEY.

Presented at Court--Drawing-Room, you know.

VALENTINE WHITE.

How dare they! poor little child!

BROOKE TWOMBLEY.

Haw, haw! If you'll wait a few minutes you'll see an imposing display of
trains and feathers. Some of them are coming on here after the ceremony
to drink tea, I believe.

VALENTINE WHITE.

Trains and feathers! Good gracious, Brooke, Imogen must have grown up!

BROOKE TWOMBLEY.

Here's her portrait--what?

VALENTINE WHITE.

[Staring at the portrait.] I am right, Brooke--she _has_ grown up!

BROOKE TWOMBLEY.

Haw!

VALENTINE WHITE.

Eight years ago she was a romp, with a frock that always had a tear in
it, and a head like a cornfield in the wind. Just look at this! While
I've been away they've given her a new fro