[Sepulchrally] Daughter o' the house.
LEMMY. Is she insured agynst 'er own curiosity?
L. ANNE. Why?
LEMMY. As I daon't believe in a life beyond the gryve, I might be
tempted to send yer there.
L. ANNE. What is the gryve?
LEMMY. Where little gells goes to.
L. ANNE. Oh, when?
LEMMY. [Pretending to look at a match, which is not there] Well, I
dunno if I've got time to finish yer this minute. Sy to-mower at.
'arf past.
L. ANNE. Half past what?
LEMMY. [Despairingly] 'Arf past wot!
[The sound of applause is heard.]
JAMES. That's 'is Grace. 'E's gettin' wickets, too.
[POULDER entering from the door.]
POULDER. Lord William is slippin' in.
[He makes a cabalistic sign with his head. Jeers crosses to the
door. LEMMY looks dubiously at POULDER.]
LEMMY. [Suddenly--as to himself] Wot oh! I am the portly one!
POULDER. [Severely] Any such allusion aggeravates your offence.
LEMMY. Oh, ah! Look 'ere, it was a corked bottle. Now, tyke care,
tyke care, 'aughty! Daon't curl yer lip! I shall myke a clean
breast o' my betryal when the time comes!
[There is a alight movement of the door. ANNE makes a dive
towards the table but is arrested by POULDER grasping her
waistband. LORD WILLIAM slips in, followed by THE PRESS, on
whom JAMES and THOMAS close the door too soon.]
HALF OF THE PRESS.
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