PHILIP. Is his name Crampton?

DOLLY (to Philip). Sounds rheumaticky, doesn't it?

PHILIP. Chalkstones, probably.

DOLLY (over her shoulder, to the parlor maid). Show Mr. Crampstones
up. (Goes R. to writing-table chair).

THE PARLOR MAID (correcting her). Mr. Crampton, miss. (She goes.)

DOLLY (repeating it to herself like a lesson). Crampton, Crampton,
Crampton, Crampton, Crampton. (She sits down studiously at the writing-
table.) I must get that name right, or Heaven knows what I shall call
him.

GLORIA. Phil: can you believe such a horrible thing as that about
our father---what mother said just now?

PHILIP. Oh, there are lots of people of that kind. Old Chalice used
to thrash his wife and daughters with a cartwhip.

DOLLY (contemptuously). Yes, a Portuguese!

PHILIP. When you come to men who are brutes, there is much in common
between the Portuguese and the English variety, Doll. Trust my
knowledge of human nature. (He resumes his position on the hearthrug
with an elderly and responsible air.)