'clock. He's
a dry fellow, that Harkaway.

[Exit Perkins, dragging Yardsley by the arm.

Barlow (calling after them). Don't you touch it, Bob. It's potent
stuff. One glass may postpone the performance.

Yardsley (from behind the scenes). Never fear for me, my boy. I've
got a head, I have.

Barlow. Well, don't get another. (Turning to Mrs. Perkins.)
Suppose we rehearse that scene where I acquaint you with Cobb's real
position in life?

Mrs. Perkins. Very well. I'm ready. I'm to sit here, am I not?
[Seats herself by table.

Barlow. And I come in here. (Begins.) Ah, Lady Ellen, I am glad to
find you alone, for I have that to say--

Mrs. Perkins. Won't you be seated, Mr. Featherhead? It was such a
delightful surprise to see you at the Duchess of Barncastle's last
evening. I had supposed you still in Ireland.

Barlow (aside). Good. She little thinks that I have just returned
from Australia, where I have at last discovered the identity of the
real Earl of Puddingford, as well as that of this bogus Muddleton,
who, by his nefarious crime, has deprived Henry Cobb of his
patrimony, of his title, aye, even of his name. She little wots that
this--this adventurer who has so strongly interested her by his
nepotic--

Mrs. Perkins (interrupting). Hypnotic, Mr. Barlow.

Barlow. What did I say?

Mrs. Perkins. Nepotic.

Barlow. How stupid of me! I'll begin again.

Mrs. Perkins (desperately). Oh, pray don't. Go on from where you
left off. That's a fearfully long aside, anyhow, and I go nearly
crazy every time you say it. I don't know what to do with myself.
It's easy enough for Mr. Yardsley to say occupy yourself somehow, but
what I want to know is, how? I can't look inquiringly at you all
that time, waiting for you to say "Ireland! Oh, yes--yes--just over
from Dublin." I can't lean against the mantel-piece and gaze into
the fire, because the mantel-piece is only canvas, and would fall
down if I did.

Barlow. It's a long aside, Mrs. Perkins, but it's awfully important,
and I don't see how we can cut it down. It's really the turning-
point of the play, in which I reveal the true state of affairs to the
audience.

Mrs. Perkins (with a sigh). I suppose that's true. I'll have to
stand it. But can't I be doing some sewing?

Barlow. Certainly not. You are the daughter of a peer. They never
sew. You might be playing a piano, but there's hardly room on the
stage for that, and, beside