Lord Strathsporran (to Mr. Tidmarsh). Afraid I'm most abominably late—had some difficulty in getting here—such a fog, don't you know! It's really uncommonly good of you to let me come and see your antiquities like this. If I am not mistaken, you have got together a collection of sepulchral objects worth coming any distance to study. [He glances round the room, in evident astonishment.

Mr. Tid. (to himself). Nice names to give my dinner-party! Impudent young dog, this—Lord or no Lord! (Aloud, with dignity.) I—ha—hum—don't think that's quite the way to speak of them, Sir—my Lord, I suppose I ought to say!

Lord Strath. Oh, I expect a most interesting evening, I assure you.

Mr. Tid. Well, I—I daresay you'll have no cause to complain, so far as that goes, Lord—er—Strath—you'll excuse me, but I haven't quite got accustomed to that title of yours.

Lord Strath. (smiling). Not surprised at that—feel much the same myself.

Mr. Tid. Ha—well, to tell you the honest truth, I should have been just as pleased if you had come here without any handle of that sort to your name.

Lord Strath. Quite unnecessary to tell me so—and, you see, I couldn't very well help myself.

Mr. Tid. (to himself). Blankley sends 'em all out with titles—then his is bogus! (Aloud.) Oh, I don't blame you, if it's the rule; only—(irritably)—well, it makes me feel so devilish awkward, you know!

Lord Strath. Extremely sorry—don't know why it should. (To himself.) Queer little chap my host. Don't look the Egyptologist exactly. And where does he keep all his things? Downstairs, I suppose. (He turns, and recognises Miss Seaton.) Marjory Seaton—here! and I've been trying to hear something of her ever since I came back from Gîzeh—this is luck! (To her.) How do you do, Miss Seaton? No idea we should meet like this!

Miss Seaton (in a low constrained voice). Nor I, Mr. Claymore. [Mr. Tidmarsh catches his Wife's eye, and crosses to her.

Mrs. Tid. (sotto voce). Montague, isn't it time you introduced me to this Lord Whatever-it-is? As the person of highest rank here, he certainly ought to take me in!

Mr. Tid. He's done it, Maria. He's no more a Lord than I am. Miss Seaton knows him—I just heard her call him "Mr. Clayton," or some name like that!

Mrs. Tid. (aghast.) So this is the sort of person you would go and engage! He'll be found out, Montague, I can see Uncle edging up towards him already. And anyhow, you know what his opinions are. A pretty scrape you've got us into! Don't stand gaping—bring the man up to me this minute—I must give him a hint to be careful. (Lord S. is led up and presented.) Sit down here, please, in this corner, Lord—(with a vicious emphasis)—Strath-Blankley. (Lord. S. obeys in mild amazement.) Really, my husband and I were hardly prepared for so aristocratic a guest—we are such plain humdrum people that a title—a real title like your lordship's—ahoo!—(with an acid titter)—is, well—rather overwhelming. I only hope you will be able to—er—sustain it, or otherwise——

Lord Strath. (lifting his eyebrows.) Am I to understand that you did not expect me, after all? Because, if so,—I——

Mrs. Tid. Oh, yes, we expected you, and of course, you will be treated exactly the same as everybody else—except—I don't know if my husband warned you about not touching the champagne? No? Oh, well, you will drink claret please, not champagne. I daresay you prefer it.

Lord Strath. Thank you, I should indeed—if you have any misgivings about your champagne.

Mrs. Tid. We must draw some distinction between you and our regular guests, as I'm sure you'll understand.

Lord Strath. (to himself.) Poor devils—if they only knew! But what an unspeakable snob this woman is! I'd give something to get out of this house—if it wasn't for Marjory. I must have a word with her before dinner—strikes me she's put out with me about something or other.

Mrs. Gilwattle (to her Husband). Did you ever see anything like the way Maria's talking to that young nobleman, Gabriel? as easy and composed as if she'd kept such company all her life—it's a wonder how she can do it!

Uncle Gab. Look at the finishing she's had! And after all, he's flesh and blood like ourselves. She might introduce you and me to him, though—it looks as if she was ashamed of her own relations. I shall go up and introduce myself in a minute, and do what I can to make the young fellow feel himself at home. (Intercepting Lord S. in the act of moving towards Miss Seaton.) Excuse me, my Lord, but, as the uncle of our worthy host and hostess, I should like the honour of shaking you by the hand. (He shakes hands.) My name's Gilwattle, my Lord, and I ought to tell you before I go any further that I've no superstitious reverence for rank. Whether a man's a lord or a linen-draper, is exactly the same to me—I look upon him dimply as a human being.

Lord Strath. Quite so? he—ah—generally is, isn't he?

Uncle Gab. Very handsome of your Lordship to admit it, I'm sure—but what I mean to say is, I regard any friend of my niece and nephew's as a friend of mine—be he a Duke or be he a Dustman.

Lord Strath. Unhappily for me, I'm neither a Duke nor a Dustman, and—er—will you kindly excuse me? (To himself as he passes on.) That old gentleman makes me quite ill. Ah, Marjory at last! (To Miss Seaton.) You've scarcely spoken a word to me yet! I hoped somehow you'd look a little pleased to see me—after all this time!

Miss Seaton. Pleased? I can hardly be that under the circumstances, Mr. Claymore!

Lord Strath. Well, I only thought—we used to be such friends once. You seem so changed!

Miss Seaton. I am not the only one who is changed, I think. You seem to have changed everything—even your name. What ought I to call you, by the way, I didn't catch it exactly. "Lord Somebody," wasn't it?

Lord Strath. Never mind the confounded name, I have heard quite enough of it already! It's not my fault if I'm what I am. I never wanted to be Strathsporran!

Miss Seaton. Then you really are Lord Strathsporran! Oh, Douglas, how could you?

Lord Strath. I