You see, for me to publish such an onslaught on new titles in the
afternoon, and then attempt to dine with the latest countess the same
night--and she my own aunt--well, it might be regarded as a bit--thick.
So I'm confined to the house--this house as it happens.

HILDEGARDE. But you told John your people would take the article like
meat and drink.

TRANTO. What if I did? John can't expect to discover the whole truth
about everything at one go. He's found out it's a jolly strange world.
That ought to satisfy him for to-day. Besides, he only asked me about my
uncles. He said nothing about my uncles' wives. You know what women
are--I mean wives.

HILDEGARDE. Oh, I do! Mother is a marvellous specimen.

TRANTO. I haven't told you the worst.

HILDEGARDE. I hope no man ever will.

TRANTO. The worst is this. Auntie Joe actually thinks _I_'m Sampson
Straight.

HILDEGARDE. She doesn't!

TRANTO. She does. She has an infinite capacity for belief. The
psychology of the thing is as follows. My governor died a comparatively
poor man. A couple of hundred thousand pounds, more or less. Whereas
Uncle Joe is worth five millions--and Uncle Joe was going to adopt me,
when Auntie Joe butted in and married him. She used to arrange the