Janet.  And couldn’t you think of anything cleverer than to give your poor mother her death of cold for a start?

James.  How else could we have arranged it?  I myself rang at your door for a quarter of an hour yesterday afternoon.

Janet.  We never heard you.

James.  Strange!

Janet.  No, it isn’t.  We took the bell off three days ago.

James.  I was told that it was impossible to effect an entrance in the ordinary way.  Hence, we had to use craft.  I argued that food must come into the house, and that it probably came in early.

Janet.  Well, it’s a good thing for you I happened to hear the cat mewing, or you might have had another couple of hours in my back yard.  You’re the eldest, I suppose.

James.  We are twins.

Janet.  Really!

Carve.  As you say—­really!

James.  I am the older, but the difference between us is not considerable.

John.  Now, mother, please don’t cry.

Janet. (Having poured out a cup of tea, holds it before Mrs. Shawn.) Sugar? (Mrs. Shawn signifies an affirmative—­Janet drops sugar into cup, which Mrs. Shawn takes.) You’ll drink it easier if you lift your veil.

James.  Now, mother—­you are sure you recognise this gentleman?

Mrs. S. (Not very positively.) Yes—­yes.  It’s a rare long while....

James.  He is your husband and our father?

Mrs. S. (More positively.) Yes.  And sorry I am to say it. (Janet eyes her carefully.)

James.  I think that suffices. (To Janet.) Madam, you are in a most unfortunate position.  You supposed yourself to be a married woman, whereas you are nothing of the kind.  I needn’t say that as the victim of a heartless bigamist you have our deepest....

Janet. (Handing him a slice of bread on toasting-fork.) Just toast this for your mother, will you, and mind the bars.  I’ll get another cup or two. (Goes to sideboard and gets crockery.)

Carve.  And so these are my two sons!  They show little emotion in beholding the author of their being for the first time.  As for me, I hardly recognise them.

Mrs. S. And is it likely, seeing they were born six months after you deserted me, Albert?

Carve.  I see.  If it isn’t indiscreet, am I a grandfather?

James. (Toasting.) No, sir.

Carve.  I only wanted to know the worst.  Silly joke about the fertility of curates—­you’ve met with it, no doubt!

James.  Your tone is simply lamentable, sir.

Janet. (To James.) Mind!  You can do the other side.  Now, take care; the fire’s very hot. (In the same mild tone to Mrs. Shawn.) Twenty-six years, you say?