Chancery Lane project.

PRAED [ruefully] I'm afraid there will.

VIVIE. Well, I shall win because I want nothing but my fare to London
to start there to-morrow earning my own living by devilling for Honoria.
Besides, I have no mysteries to keep up; and it seems she has. I shall
use that advantage over her if necessary.

PRAED [greatly shocked] Oh no! No, pray. Youd not do such a thing.

VIVIE. Then tell me why not.

PRAED. I really cannot. I appeal to your good feeling. [She smiles at
his sentimentality]. Besides, you may be too bold. Your mother is not to
be trifled with when she's angry.

VIVIE. You can't frighten me, Mr Praed. In that month at Chancery Lane I
had opportunities of taking the measure of one or two women v e r y like
my mother. You may back me to win. But if I hit harder in my ignorance
than I need, remember it is you who refuse to enlighten me. Now, let us
drop the subject. [She takes her chair and replaces it near the hammock
with the same vigorous swing as before].

PRAED [taking a desperate resolution] One word, Miss Warren. I had
better tell you. It's very difficult; but--

[Mrs Warren and Sir George Crofts arrive at the gate. Mrs Warren is
between 40 and 50, formerly pretty, showily dressed in a brilliant
hat and a gay blouse fitting tightly over her bust and flanked by
fashionable sleeves. Rather spoilt and domineering, and decidedly
vulgar, but, on the whole, a genial and fairly presentable old
blackguard of a woman.]

[Crofts is a tall powerfully-built man of about 50, fashionably dressed
in the style of a young man. Nasal voice, reedier than might be expected
from his strong frame. Clean-shaven bulldog jaws, large flat ears, and
thick neck: gentlemanly combination of the most brutal types of city
man, sporting man, and man about town.]

VIVIE. Here they are. [Coming to them as they enter the garden] How do,
mater? Mr Praed's been here this half hour, waiting for you.

MRS WARREN. Well, if you've been waiting, Praddy, it's your own fault:
I thought youd have had the gumption to know I was coming by the 3.10
train. Vivie: put your hat on, dear: youll get sunburnt. Oh, I forgot to
introduce you. Sir George Crofts: my little Vivie.

[Crofts advances to Vivie with his most courtly manner. She nods, but
makes no motion to shake hands.]

CROFTS. May I shake hands with a young lady whom I have known by
reputation very long as the daughter of one of my oldest friends?

VIVIE [who has b