Mrs. Crowley.
DICK.
[_Going towards her eagerly and taking both her hands._] Best of women!
MRS. CROWLEY.
You seem quite glad to see me?
DICK.
I am. But where is Lucy?
MRS. CROWLEY.
She's coming later.... I don't know why you should squeeze my hands in this pointed manner.
DICK.
What an age it is since I saw you!
MRS. CROWLEY.
If you bury yourself in Scotland all the summer, you can't expect to see people who go to Homburg and the Italian lakes.
DICK.
Heavens, how you cultivate respectability!
MRS. CROWLEY.
It's a sensitive plant whose vagaries one has to humour.
DICK.
Aren't you delighted to be back in town?
MRS. CROWLEY.
London's the most charming place in the world to get away from and to come back to. Now tell me all you've been doing, if I can hear it without blushing too furiously.
DICK.
My behaviour would have done credit to a clergyman's only daughter. I dragged Alec off to Scotland after that horrible scene at Lady Kelsey's, and we played golf.
MRS. CROWLEY.
Was he very wretched, poor thing?
DICK.
He didn't say a word. I wanted to comfort him, but he never gave me a chance. He never mentioned Lucy's name.
MRS. CROWLEY.
Did he seem unhappy?
DICK.
No. He was just the same as ever, impassive and collected.
MRS. CROWLEY.
Really he's inhuman.
DICK.
He's an anomaly in this juvenile century. He's an ancient Roman who buys his clothes in Savile Row. An eagle caged with a colony of canaries.
MRS. CROWLEY.
Then he's very much in the way in England, and it's much better for him that he should go back to Africa.
DICK.
This time to-morrow he'll be half-way down the channel.
MRS. CROWLEY.
I'm really beginning to think you're a perfect angel, Mr. Lomas.
DICK.
Don't say that, it makes me feel so middle-aged. I'd much sooner be a young sinner than an elderly cherub.
MRS. CROWLEY.
It was sweet of you to look after him through the summer and then insist on his staying here till he went away. How long is he going for this time?
DICK.
Heaven knows! Perhaps for ever.
MRS. CROWLEY.
Have you told him that Lucy is coming?
DICK.