The
chair he deposits by the tent door, and hitches Mop's "lead" to the back
of that on which the Queen is sitting. With the small beginnings of a
smile she lowers the paper, and looks at him and his accompaniments_.)
QUEEN. Well, Brown? Oh, yes; that's quite a nice one.... I'm sure there's
a wasps' nest somewhere; there are so many of them about.
J.B. Eh, don't fash yourself! Wasps have a way of being aboot this time of
year. It's the fruit they're after.
QUEEN. Yes: like Adam and Eve.
J.B. That's just it, Ma'am.
QUEEN. You'd better take it away, Brown, or cover it; it's too tempting.
J.B. (_removing the fruit_). Ah! Now if God had only done that, maybe
we'd still all be running aboot naked.
QUEEN. I'm glad He didn't, then.
J.B. Ye're right, Ma'am.
QUEEN. The Fall made the human race decent, even if it did no good
otherwise. Brown, I've dropped my glasses.
(_He picks them up and returns them_.)
QUEEN. Thank you, Brown,
J.B. So you're expecting a visitor, ye say?
QUEEN. Yes. You haven't seen Lord Beaconsfield yet, I suppose?
J.B. Since he was to arrive off the train, you mean, Ma'am? No: he came
early. He's in his room.
QUEEN. I hope they have given him a comfortable one.
J.B. It's the one I used to have. There's a good spring-bed in it, and a
kettle-ring for the whisky.
QUEEN. Oh, that's all right, then.
J.B. Will he be staying for long? Ma'am.
QUEEN. Only for a week, I'm afraid.
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