he dining-room of a house in Denmark Hill, an elderly lady sits at
breakfast reading the newspaper. Her chair is at the end of the oblong
dining-table furthest from the fire. There is an empty chair at the
other end. The fireplace is behind this chair; and the door is next the
fireplace, between it and the corner. An arm-chair stands beside the
coal-scuttle. In the middle of the back wall is the sideboard, parallel
to the table. The rest of the furniture is mostly dining-room chairs,
ranged against the walls, and including a baby rocking-chair on the
lady's side of the room. The lady is a placid person. Her husband, Mr
Robin Gilbey, not at all placid, bursts violently into the room with a
letter in his hand._

GILBEY. [grinding his teeth] This is a nice thing. This is a b----

MRS GILBEY. [cutting him short] Leave it at that, please. Whatever it
is, bad language wont make it better.

GILBEY. [bitterly] Yes, put me in the wrong as usual. Take your boy's
part against me. [He flings himself into the empty chair opposite her].

MRS GILBEY. When he does anything right, hes your son. When he does
anything wrong hes mine. Have you any news of him?

GILBEY. Ive a good mind not to tell you.

MRS GILBEY. Then dont. I suppose hes been found. Thats a comfort, at all
events.

GILBEY. No, he hasnt been found. The boy may be at the bottom of the
river for all you care. [Too agitated to sit quietly, he rises and paces
the room distractedly].

MRS GILBEY. Then what have you got in your hand?

GILBEY. Ive a letter from the Monsignor Grenfell. From New York.
Dropping us. Cutting us. [Turning fiercely on her] Thats a nice thing,
isnt it?

MRS GILBEY. What for?

GILBEY. [flinging away towards his chair] How do _I_ know what for?

MRS GILBEY. What does he say?

GILBEY. [sitting down and grumblingly adjusting his spectacles] This is
what he says. "My dear Mr Gilbey: The news about Bobby had to follow me
across the Atlantic: it did not reach me until to-day. I am afraid he
is incorrigible. My brother, as you may imagine, feels that this last
escapade has gone beyond the bounds; and I think, myself, that Bobby
ought to be made to feel that such scrapes involve a certain degree of
reprobation." "As you may imagine"! And we know no more about it than
the babe unborn.

MRS GILBEY. What else does he say?

GILBEY. "I think my brother must have been just a little to blame
himself; so, between ourselves, I shall, with due and impres