Robinson. May we venture to peep into this portfolio, my good fellow?—­that is, if the contents have the interest for us that we believe them to have.  It holds Mrs. Nokes’s sketches, I presume.

Nokes. Yes, yes; they are her sketches and nobody else’s. [Aside] Certainly they are, for I bought them for her in Piccadilly.—­But here she comes to answer for herself. [Enter SUSAN.] Sus—­I mean Constance, my dear, let me introduce to you three friends of my bachelor days, Mr. Sponge, Mr. Rasper, Mr. Robinson.

Susan [speaking broken English]. Gentlemens, I am mos glad to see you.  My husband—­hees friends are mai friends.

Rasper [aside]. She’s devilish civil.  If she had been English I should almost think she was afraid of us.

Sponge [bowing]. You are most kind, madam.  The noble are always kind. [Aside to Nokes.] She’s all blood, my dear fellow.

Nokes [looking toward her in alarm]. What?  Where?

Sponge. No, no; don’t misunderstand me.  I mean she’s all high birth.  If I had met your wife anywhere—­in an omnibus, for instance—­and only heard her speak, I should have exclaimed, “There’s a Montmorenci!”

Nokes [pleased]. Should you really, now, my dear Sponge?  Well, that shows you are a man of discernment.

Robinson [to Susan]. It is such a real pleasure to us, Mrs. Nokes, that you speak English.  We were afraid we should find it difficult to converse with you.  Sponge is the only one of us who understands—­

Sponge. Yes, madam, we did fear that since no other tongue is spoken in courts and camps—­or, at all events, in courts—­we should have some difficulty in following your ideas.  But you speak English like a native.

Susan [emphatically]. I believe you. [Recollecting and correcting herself] Dat is, I do trai mai best.  It please my mari—­my what ees it?—­my husband.  He don’t talk French heemself—­not mooch.

Nokes. Well, I don’t think you should quite say that, my dear.  I could always make myself understood abroad, you know, though my accent is perhaps a little anglicized.

Susan [laughing]. Rayther so.

[Guests exchange looks of astonishment.]

Nokes [with precipation]. My dear, what an expression!  The fact is, my friends, that madame has a young brother—­Count Maximilian de Montmorenci—­at school in England, and what she knows of our language she has mainly acquired from him.  The consequence is, she occasionally talks—­in point of fact—­slang.

Susan [in broken English]. Cherk the tinklare, coot your luckies, whos your hattar? [To Rasper] Have your moder sold her mangle?

[NOKES, SPONGE, and ROBINSON roar with laughter.]

Rasper [aside]. Confound that Nokes!  He must have told her about my family. [With indignation] Madam, I—­[Points by accident to the portfolio.]