MISS BEECH. Isn't it?
MRS. HOPE. You'd better make a good tea, Peachey; nobody'll get
anything till eight, and then only cold shoulder. You must just put
up with no hot dinner, Mr. Lever.
LEVER. [Bowing.] Whatever is good enough for Miss Beech is good
enough for me.
MISS BEECH. [Sardonically-taking another sandwich.] So you think!
MRS. GWYN. [With forced gaiety.] Don't be so absurd, Peachey.
[MISS BEECH, grunts slightly.]
COLONEL. [Once more busy with his papers.] I see the name of your
engineer is Rodriguez--Italian, eh?
LEVER. Portuguese.
COLONEL. Don't like that!
LEVER. I believe he was born in England.
COLONEL. [Reassured.] Oh, was he? Ah!
ERNEST. Awful rotters, those Portuguese!
COLONEL. There you go!
LETTY. Well, Father, Ernie only said what you said.
MRS. HOPE. Now I want to ask you, Mr. Lever, is this gold mine safe?
If it isn't--I simply won't allow Tom to take these shares; he can't
afford it.
LEVER. It rather depends on what you call safe, Mrs. Hope.
MRS. HOPE. I don't want anything extravagant, of course; if they're
going to pay their 10 per cent, regularly, and Tom can have his money
out at any time--[There is a faint whistle from the swing.
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