NEWTE [at sight of Honoria he has jumped up and hastily hidden his
cigar behind him]. What are you going to do?

FANNY [she seats herself and suggests to him the writing-chair].
Hear from you--first of all--exactly what you told Vernon.

NEWTE [sitting]. About you?

FANNY [nods]. About me--and my family.

NEWTE. Well--couldn't tell him much, of course. Wasn't much to
tell.

FANNY. I want what you did tell.

NEWTE. I told him that your late father was a musician.

FANNY. Yes.

NEWTE. Had been unfortunate. Didn't go into particulars. Didn't
seem to be any need for it. That your mother had died when you were
still only a girl and that you had gone to live with relatives. [He
looks for approval.]

FANNY. Yes.

NEWTE. That you hadn't got on well with them--artistic temperament,
all that sort of thing--that, in consequence, you had appealed to
your father's old theatrical friends; and that they--that they,