away, dear one--nearest your
heart.
[He slips it into his stocking.]
MACPHAIL.
Oh!
MRS. GAYLUSTRE.
And now, as I start in the morning at nine-forty-five, sharp, on the
tick, we must say farewell. Oh, this parting is too cruel. Colin!
[She falls against him.]
MACPHAIL.
Here's my mother! [He throws her off.]
MRS. GAYLUSTRE.
[Under her breath.] Drat your mother!
[LADY MACPHAIL enters.]
LADY MACPHAIL.
Madam. [To MACPHAIL.] Why do you leave the ball-room, my lad?
MACPHAIL.
I've been just watching the moonlight on Loch Auchentoshan.
LADY MACPHAIL.
I am proud to see this devotion to Loch Auchentoshan, but to-night you
have other duties almost equally important. After this paltry waltz we
lose ourselves in the wild pleasures of our native dance.
MACPHAIL.
The Strathspey? [He takes MRS. GAYLUSTRE'S card from his stocking.] Oh!
[Hides it and produces his ball-programme from his other stocking.] The
Strathspey.
LADY MACPHAIL.
Come, lad. They have yet to see the Macphail lead the Strathspey with
his betrothed.
[They go out together.]
MRS. GAYLUSTRE.
Yes, and they shall ultimately see the Macphail writing love-letters to
Fanny--love-letters with a promise of marriage in 'em. I'll consult a
solicitor directly I reach town and be ready to marry or to sue him. Oh,
Fanny, Fanny, ungrateful girl, what a lot you have to be thankful for!
[She runs out and ANGELE peeps in.]
ANGELE.
Milord! Miladi! [She enters.] I must find miladi! Miladi!
[LADY TWOMBLEY enters.]
LADY TWOMBLEY.
No news from Reeves & Shuckleback, the Stockbrokers. The waiting for it
will finish me!
ANGELE.
Oh, Miladi Twombley.
LADY TWOMBLEY.
[Turning to her sharply.] Ah!
ANGELE.
Tell me, vere is milord?
LADY TWOMBLEY.
What! Has a messenger come from Strachlachan with a telegram for Lord
Drumdurris? Speak?
ANGELE.
I do not know.
LADY TWOMBLEY.
Oh!
ANGELE.
But, oh, miladi, I 'ave been a vicked girl!
LADY TWOMBLEY.
I dare say you have--that's your business.
ANGELE.
Miladi, ze leetle Lord Aberbrothock is indispose.
LADY TWOMBLEY.
The baby?
ANGELE.
Yees. To please milord, and contrary to miladi's ordares, I put Lord
Aberbrothock to bed wiz his gun.
LADY TWOMBLEY.
I know--I'm a mother--the child has swallowed the paint!
ANGELE.
Ah, yees!
LADY TWOMBLEY.
Send a groom to Strachlachan for Dr. M'Gubbie.
ANGELE.
Yees, miladi.
LADY
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