L. Anne. [Puzzled] Oh!

     [The voice of the press is heard in the hall.  “Where’s the
     little girl?”]

James.  That’s you.  Come ’ere!

     [He puts a hand behind little Aida’s back and propels her
     towards the hall.  The press enters with old Mrs. Lemmy.]

Press.  Oh!  Here she is, major domo.  I’m going to take this old lady to the meeting; they want her on the platform.  Look after our friend, Mr. Lemmy here; Lord William wants to see him presently.

L. Anne. [In an awed whisper] James, it’s the little blighter!

     [She dives again under the table.  Lemmy enters.]

Lemmy.  ’Ere!  ‘Arf a mo’!  Yer said yer’d drop me at my plyce. 
Well, I tell yer candid—­this ’yn’t my plyce.

Press.  That’s all right, Mr. Lemmy. [He grins] They’ll make you wonderfully comfortable, won’t you, major domo?

     [He passes on through the room, to the door, ushering old Mrs.
     Lemmy and little Aida.]

     [Poulder blocks Lemmy’s way, with Charles and Henry behind him.]

Poulder.  James, watch it; I’ll report.

[He moves away, following the press through the door.  James between table and window.  Thomas has gone to the door.  Henry and Charles remain at the entrances to the hall.  Lemmy looks dubiously around, his cockney assurrance gradually returns.]

Lemmy.  I think I knows the gas ’ere.  This is where I came to-dy, ’yn’t it?  Excuse my hesitytion—­these little ’ouses is so much the syme.

James. [Gloomily] They are!

Lemmy. [Looking at the four immovable footmen, till he concentrates on James] Ah!  I ’ad a word wiv you, ’adn’t I?  You’re the four conscientious ones wot’s wyin’ on your gov’nor’s chest.  ’Twas you I spoke to, wasn’t it? [His eyes travel over them again] Ye’re so monotonous.  Well, ye’re busy now, I see.  I won’t wyste yer time.

     [He turns towards the hall, but Charles and Henry bar the way in
     silence.]

     [Skidding a little, and regarding the four immovables once more]

I never see such pytient men?  Compared wiv yer, mountains is restless.

     [He goes to the table.  James watches him.  Anne barks from
     underneath.]

[Skidding again] Why!  There’s a dawg under there. [Noting the grin on THOMAS’S face] Glad it amooses yer.  Yer want it, daon’t yer, wiv a fyce like that?  Is this a ply wivaht words?  ’Ave I got into the movies by mistyke?  Turn aht, an’ let’s ‘ave six penn’orth o’ darkness.

L. Anne. [From beneath the cable] No, no!  Not dark!