a sponge
that I had picked out of the cold, cold water.

_Gertrude._ It is a flapper you are, Dora Smith-Hybrow.

_Dora._ It is a flapper you will never be again, Gertrude Smith-Hybrow,
though you be after doing your queer best to look like one.

_Mrs. S.-H._ Whisht! Is it the time for loose talk, with the wind rising,
rising, and the rain falling, falling, and the price of butter up another
threepence this blessed morning?

[_They all three recommence keening. Enter_ Mr. Smith-Hybrow _followed
by_ Cyril.

_Mr. S.-H._ (_staunching a gash in his chin_). Is it not a hard thing for a
man to be late for his breakfast and the rain falling, falling, and the
wind rising, rising. It's destroyed I am with the loss of blood and no food
in my stomach would keep the life in a flea.

[_Sits in his place and opens his letters savagely._ Cyril, _a
cadaverous youth, stares gloomily into the depths of the marmalade._

_Cyril_ (_dreamily_). There's gold and gold and gold--caverns of gold. And
there's a woman with hair of gold and eyes would pick the locks of a man's
soul, and long shining hands like pale seaweed. Is it not a terrible thing
that a man would have to go to the City when there is a woman with gold
hair waiting for him in the marmalade pot--waiting to draw him down into
the cold, cold water?

_Dora._ Is it another spongeful you are wanting, Cyril Smith-Hybrow, and
myself destroyed entirely waiting for the marmalade?

[Cyril _blushes, passes the marmalade, sits down languidly and selects
an egg._ Mrs. S.-H. _pours out the coffee and resumes her keening._

_Mr. S.-H._ (_glaring at her_). Is it not a nice thing for the wife of a
respectable City stockbroker to sit at the breakfast-table making a noise
like that of a cow that is waiting to be milked?

_Mrs. S.-H._ (_hurt_). It is keening I am.

_Gertrude_ (_passing him "The Morning Post"_). Is it not enough that the
price of butter is up another threepence this blessed day, and the wind
rising, rising, and the rain falling, falling?

_Mr. S.-H._ It is destroyed we shall all be entirely.

_Cyril_ (_gazing into the depths of his egg_). There was a strange queer
dream I was after having the night that has gone. It was on the rocks I
was....

_Mr. S.-H._ (_glaring at the market reports_). It is on the rocks we shall
all be.

_Cyril._ ... on the rocks I was by the sea-shore ...

_Dora_ (_slightly hysterically_). With the wind rising, rising?