[_To Queckett._] Thank ye--thank ye. [_Panting._] Ouf! [_Rankling sits down, and Mallory talks to him. Saunders has seated himself on the sofa and is dozing off, quite tired out. _]
Oh, what a party! [_ The door opens, and Peggy's head appears._]
[_Hurriedly to Queckett._] Who'd have thought of this?
It might be worse--he doesn't recognise the house he is in.
Get rid of his daughter and that horrid Paulover.
Certainly not; I know he won't recognise his daughter.
Won't recognise his own dau--you'll drive me mad! [_They continue to talk in undertones. Saunders is now fast asleep._]
[_To Mallory._] No--I don't like the look of poor Queckett.
Altered--he glares like the devil. He's not married, is he?
Then, what does he mean by it? Queer rooms too. [_Catching sight of the wedding-cake on the table._] Lord, look there!
Why, it's like the thing we had at my wedding breakfast. Phew! I shall go.
No, no! The fact is poor old Queckett has some nieces staying with him.
Four of 'em. I've seen one, and I fancy by the look of her mischievous little face, that they're too much for him.
[_To Queckett._] Leave everything to me. Don't spoil the party, Uncle.
Dash the party! [_Peggy retiring hastily, the door bangs, at which Rankling and Mallory look round._]
Nieces--nieces? Oh, they retire at eight o'clock. Early to bed, early to rise--[_Gwendoline and Ermyntrude enter, visibly pushed on by Peggy._]
[_Rising._] Um, this doesn't look like early to bed.
[_ Weakly._] Just got up, I suppose. Gwendoline--Ermyntrude--my dears--Admiral Rankling--Mr. Mallory--[_Looking about for Saunders._] Mr.--Mr.--Oh, Mr. Saunders is asleep! [_Ermyntrude and Gwendoline advance to Rankling._]
[_To the girls._] How do you do? And whose daughters are you? [_Gwendoline and Ermyntrude look frightened, and shake their heads._]
Why, all your sister Isabel's children were boys.
Are men, now. H'm! I should have said these are my sister Janet's children.
Oh! I've never heard of your sister Janet.
Whom didn't Janet marry? I mean, whom did Jane marry? Why, Finch Griffin of the Berkshire Royals!
Dear me, we're going to meet Major Griffin and his wife on Christmas Day at the Trotwells'.
Are you? [_To Gwendoline and Ermyntrude._] Go away. [_Peggy enters._] Oh--ahem! This is Margaret--Peggy.