Part 2 (1/2)

The scene is a conservatory built and decorated in Moorish style, in the house of the RT. HON. SIR JULIAN TWOMBLEY, M.P., Chesterfield Gardens, London. A fountain is playing, and tall palms lend their simple elegance to the elaborate Algerian magnificence of the place. The drawing-rooms are just beyond the curtained entrances. It is a May afternoon.

BROOKE TWOMBLEY, a good-looking but insipid young man of about two-and-twenty, faultlessly dressed for the afternoon, enters, and sits dejectedly, turning over some papers.

BROOKE TWOMBLEY.

I've done it. Such an afternoon's work--what! [Reading.] ”Schedule of the Debts of Mr. Brooke Twombley. [Turning over sheet after sheet.]

Tradesmen. Betting Transactions. Baccarat. Miscellaneous Amus.e.m.e.nts.

Sundries. Extras.”

[PROBYN, a servant in powder and livery, is crossing the conservatory, when he sees BROOKE.]

PROBYN.

Oh, Mr. Brooke.

BROOKE TWOMBLEY.

[Slipping the schedule into his pocket.] Eh!

PROBYN.

I didn't know you were in, sir. Her ladys.h.i.+p told me to give you this, Mr. Brooke--quietly.

[He hands BROOKE a letter which he has taken from his pocket.]

BROOKE TWOMBLEY.

[Glancing at the envelope.] The Mater. Thank you. [A little cough is heard. He looks toward the drawing-room.] Is anyone there?

PROBYN.

Mrs. Gayl.u.s.tre, sir.

BROOKE TWOMBLEY.

The dressmaker! What does she want?

PROBYN.

She told Phipps, Miss Imogen's maid, sir, that she was anxious to see the effect of her ladys.h.i.+p's and Miss Imogen's gowns when they get back from the Drawing-Room.

BROOKE TWOMBLEY.

You should take her upstairs.

PROBYN.

Beg your pardon, Mr. Brooke, but we've always understood that when Mrs.