Vivie.  No:  she won’t talk about it either. [Rising] However, I daresay you have good reasons for telling me nothing.  Only, mind this, Mr Praed, I expect there will be a battle royal when my mother hears of my Chancery Lane project.

Praed [ruefully] I’m afraid there will.

Vivie.  Well, I shall win because I want nothing but my fare to London to start there to-morrow earning my own living by devilling for Honoria.  Besides, I have no mysteries to keep up; and it seems she has.  I shall use that advantage over her if necessary.

Praed [greatly shocked] Oh no!  No, pray.  Youd not do such a thing.

Vivie.  Then tell me why not.

Praed. I really cannot.  I appeal to your good feeling. [She smiles at his sentimentality].  Besides, you may be too bold.  Your mother is not to be trifled with when she’s angry.

Vivie.  You can’t frighten me, Mr Praed.  In that month at Chancery Lane I had opportunities of taking the measure of one or two women v e r y like my mother.  You may back me to win.  But if I hit harder in my ignorance than I need, remember it is you who refuse to enlighten me.  Now, let us drop the subject. [She takes her chair and replaces it near the hammock with the same vigorous swing as before].

Praed [taking a desperate resolution] One word, Miss Warren.  I had better tell you.  It’s very difficult; but—­

[Mrs Warren and Sir George Crofts arrive at the gate.  Mrs Warren is between 40 and 50, formerly pretty, showily dressed in a brilliant hat and a gay blouse fitting tightly over her bust and flanked by fashionable sleeves.  Rather spoilt and domineering, and decidedly vulgar, but, on the whole, a genial and fairly presentable old blackguard of a woman.]

[Crofts is a tall powerfully-built man of about 50, fashionably dressed in the style of a young man.  Nasal voice, reedier than might be expected from his strong frame.  Clean-shaven bulldog jaws, large flat ears, and thick neck:  gentlemanly combination of the most brutal types of city man, sporting man, and man about town.]

Vivie.  Here they are. [Coming to them as they enter the garden] How do, mater?  Mr Praed’s been here this half hour, waiting for you.

Mrs Warren.  Well, if you’ve been waiting, Praddy, it’s your own fault:  I thought youd have had the gumption to know I was coming by the 3.10 train.  Vivie:  put your hat on, dear:  youll get sunburnt.  Oh, I forgot to introduce you.  Sir George Crofts:  my little Vivie.

[Crofts advances to Vivie with his most courtly manner.  She nods, but makes no motion to shake hands.]

Crofts.  May I shake hands with a young lady whom I have known by reputation very long as the daughter of one of my oldest friends?

Vivie [who has been looking him up and down sharply] If you like.

[She takes his tenderly proferred hand and gives it a squeeze that makes him open his eyes; then turns away, and says to her mother] Will you come in, or shall I get a couple more chairs? [She goes into the porch for the chairs].