Midsummer. [Queckett, his coat collar turned tip, appears at the door looking back over his shoulder.]

QUECKETT.

What's the matter with the Ranklings? [Seeing Miss Dyott and Peggy.] Oh! has that vexing girl told Caroline? [The clock strikes two.]

MISS DYOTT.

[To herself!] Two o'clock—I must remove to Henrietta Street. [Seeing Queckett.] My darling.

QUECKETT.

My love. [To himself] All right.

MISS DYOTT.

I am going to prepare for my journey—the train leaves Paddington at three. [As Miss Dyott goes towards the centre door, Jane enters carrying about twenty boxes of cigars, which she deposits on the floor and then goes out.] What is this?

QUECKETT.

H'm! my cigars, Carrie—brought 'em with me in a cab.

MISS DYOTT.

Oh! [Reading the label of one of the boxes.] "Por Carolina." Ah, poor Caroline. [She goes out. Directly she is gone, Peggy and Queckett, by a simultaneous movement, rush to the two doors and close them.]

QUECKETT.

Now, Miss Hesslerigge!

PEGGY.

Sir.

QUECKETT.

We will come to a distinct understanding.

PEGGY.

If you please.

QUECKETT.

In the first place, you will return me my telegram.

PEGGY.

I can't.

QUECKETT.

You mean you won't.

PEGGY.

No, I can't.

QUECKETT.

Why not?

PEGGY.

I have just sent it to the telegraph office, by Tyler.

QUECKETT.

Despatched it!

PEGGY.

Despatched it—it was one and fourpence.

QUECKETT.

Oh, you—you—you vexing girl! Mr. Mallory will be here to-night.

PEGGY.

Yes—and will "Bring two or three good fellows." At least we hope so.

QUECKETT.

Hope so!

PEGGY.

[Standing over him with her arms folded.] Listen, Mr. Vere Queckett. [He starts.] We ladies are going to give a little party to-night to celebrate a serious event in the life of one of us. We have invited only one young gentleman; your friends will be welcome.

QUECKETT.

Oh!

PEGGY.

Without us your party must fail, for we command the servants. Let it be a compact—your soirée shall be our soirée, and our soirée your soirée.

QUECKETT.

And if I indignantly decline?

PEGGY.

[Solemnly.] Consider, Mr. Queckett—your Christmas holidays are to be passed with us. Think in which direction your comfort and freedom lie—in friendship or in enmity? Even now, Ermyntrude Johnson is trimming the holly with one of your razors.

QUECKETT.

But what explanation could I give Mr. Mallory of your presence here?

PEGGY.

Every detail has been considered. You are our bachelor uncle.

QUECKETT.

Uncle!

PEGGY.

We are your four nieces.

[Queckett looks up—is tickled by the idea, and bursts out laughing. Peggy joins.]

I don't see why that shouldn't be rather jolly.

PEGGY.

[Roguishly.] D'ye consent?

QUECKETT.

Can't help myself—can I?

PEGGY.

[Delighted] That you can't.

QUECKETT.