GILBEY. [with dignity] I know Mr Joseph Grenfell, the brother of Monsignor Grenfell, if it is of him you are speaking.

DORA. [wide-eyed and much amused] No!!!  You dont tell me that old geezer has a brother a Monsignor!  And youre Catholics!  And I never knew it, though Ive known Bobby ever so long!  But of course the last thing you find out about a person is their religion, isnt it?

MRS GILBEY.  We’re not Catholics.  But when the Samuelses got an Archdeacon’s son to form their boy’s mind, Mr Gilbey thought Bobby ought to have a chance too.  And the Monsignor is a customer.  Mr Gilbey consulted him about Bobby; and he recommended a brother of his that was more sinned against than sinning.

GILBEY. [on tenderhooks] She dont want to hear about that, Maria. [To Dora] Whats your business?

DORA.  I’m afraid it was all my fault.

GILBEY.  What was all your fault?  I’m half distracted.  I dont know what has happened to the boy:  hes been lost these fourteen days—­

MRS GILBEY.  A fortnight, Rob.

GILBEY. —­and not a word have we heard of him since.

MRS GILBEY.  Dont fuss, Rob.

GILBEY. [yelling] I will fuss.  Youve no feeling.  You dont care what becomes of the lad. [He sits down savagely].

DORA. [soothingly] Youve been anxious about him.  Of course.  How thoughtless of me not to begin by telling you hes quite safe.  Indeed hes in the safest place in the world, as one may say:  safe under lock and key.

GILBEY. [horrified, pitiable] Oh my—­ [his breath fails him].  Do you mean that when he was in the police court he was in the dock?  Oh, Maria!  Oh, great Lord!  What has he done?  What has he got for it? [Desperate] Will you tell me or will you see me go mad on my own carpet?

DORA. [sweetly] Yes, old dear—­

MRS GILBEY. [starting at the familiarity] Well!

DORA. [continuing] I’ll tell you:  but dont you worry:  hes all right.  I came out myself this morning:  there was such a crowd! and a band! they thought I was a suffragette:  only fancy!  You see it was like this.  Holy Joe got talking about how he’d been a champion sprinter at college.

MRS GILBEY.  A what?

DORA.  A sprinter.  He said he was the fastest hundred yards runner in
England.  We were all in the old cowshed that night.

MRS GILBEY.  What old cowshed?

GILBEY. [groaning] Oh, get on.  Get on.

DORA.  Oh, of course you wouldnt know.  How silly of me!  It’s a rather go-ahead sort of music hall in Stepney.  We call it the old cowshed.

MRS GILBEY.  Does Mr Grenfell take Bobby to music halls?

DORA.  No.  Bobby takes him.  But Holy Joe likes it:  fairly laps it up like a kitten, poor old dear.  Well, Bobby says to me, “Darling—­”

MRS GILBEY. [placidly] Why does he call you Darling?