LORD LOAM. That's right. (He chases his children about as if they
were chickens.) Now then, Mary, up and doing, up and doing. Time we
had the servants in. They enjoy it so much.

LADY MARY. They hate it.

LORD LOAM. Mary, to your duties. (And he points severely to the tea-
table.)

ERNEST (twinkling). Congratulations, Brocky.

LORD BROCKLEHURST (who detests humour). Thanks.

ERNEST. Mother pleased?

LORD BROCKLEHURST (with dignity). Mother is very pleased.

ERNEST. That's good. Do you go on the yacht with us?

LORD BROCKLEHURST. Sorry I can't. And look here, Ernest, I will not
be called Brocky.

ERNEST. Mother don't like it?

LORD BROCKLEHURST. She does not. (He leaves ERNEST, who forgives him
and begins to think about his speech. CRICHTON enters.)

LORD LOAM (speaking as one man to another). We are quite ready,
Crichton. (CRICHTON is distressed.)