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Don't think you're neglected, child. I cannot provide for everybody at once.
LADY EUPHEMIA VIBART.
No, mamma.
DOWAGER.
But having completely settled Imogen, I shall commence the adjustment of your future after lunch.
[LADY MACPHAIL enters.]
LADY MACPHAIL.
Ah!
DOWAGER.
Dear Lady Macphail! What glorious news!
LADY MACPHAIL.
[Rapturously, with her hand upraised.] Now let the worn banner of the Macphail be run up on the crumbling tower of Castle Ballocheevin!
DOWAGER.
Certainly--by all means.
LADY MACPHAIL.
Now let the roar of the pipes startle the eaglets on the summit of black Ben-Muchty!
DOWAGER.
I hope such arrangements will be made.
LADY MACPHAIL.
Let the shriek of the wild birds resound on the sh.o.r.es of Loch-na-Doich!
DOWAGER.
[Bringing IMOGEN forward.] But you haven't seen Imogen yet.
LADY MACPHAIL.
[Embracing her.] Child! Ah, when Colin learns your answer to his suit you shall listen to such words as none but a Macphail can utter to his betrothed.
DOWAGER.
Doesn't he know?
LADY MACPHAIL.
Not yet. He went out early to watch the sun gild the gray peak of Ben-Auchter.
[LADY TWOMBLEY enters, looking very troubled.]
IMOGEN.
Mamma. [LADY MACPHAIL, the DOWAGER, and LADY EUPHEMIA talk together.]
Mamma, everybody has congratulated me. Have you nothing to say?
[LADY TWOMBLEY places her hand fondly on IMOGEN's head.]
LADY TWOMBLEY.
[In a sepulchral voice.] Did Phipps dry your head thoroughly last night?
IMOGEN.
Yes, mamma.
LADY TWOMBLEY.
Then all's well, I suppose. [SIR JULIAN'S flute is heard. To herself.]
The first Bill--the first Bill due next week.
[She sits staring at the fire as SIR JULIAN enters, playing the flute.]
IMOGEN.
Papa.
SIR JULIAN TWOMBLEY.
Imogen, my dear, amidst severe official worries I must not omit to join in the general paean of rejoicing.
IMOGEN.
Thank you, papa.
SIR JULIAN TWOMBLEY.
Sir Colin may lack that inexhaustible flow of anecdote with which I have often been credited.
IMOGEN.
He may, papa.
