BURGESS (with plaintive resignation). Gimme a nice book to read
over the fire, will you, James: thur's a good chap.

MORELL. What sort of book? A good one?

BURGESS (with almost a yell of remonstrance). Nah-oo! Summat
pleasant, just to pass the time. (Morell takes an illustrated
paper from the table and offers it. He accepts it humbly.) Thank
yer, James. (He goes back to his easy chair at the fire, and sits
there at his ease, reading.)

MORELL (as he writes). Candida will come to entertain you
presently. She has got rid of her pupil. She is filling the
lamps.

MARCHBANKS (starting up in the wildest consternation). But that
will soil her hands. I can't bear that, Morell: it's a shame.
I'll go and fill them. (He makes for the door.)

MORELL. You'd better not. (Marchbanks stops irresolutely.) She'd
only set you to clean my boots, to save me the trouble of doing
it myself in the morning.

BURGESS (with grave disapproval). Don't you keep a servant now,
James?

MORELL. Yes; but she isn't a slave; and the house looks as if I
kept three. That means that everyone has to lend a hand. It's not
a bad plan: Prossy and I can talk business after breakfast whilst
we're washing up. Washing up's no trouble when there are two