TOVER. There is some truth in this. My ship made a man of me; and a ship is the horse of the sea.
LADY UTTERWORD. Exactly how Hastings explained your being a gentleman.
CAPTAIN SHOTOVER. Not bad for a numskull. Bring the man here with you next time: I must talk to him.
LADY UTTERWORD. Why is Randall such an obvious rotter? He is well bred; he has been at a public school and a university; he has been in the Foreign Office; he knows the best people and has lived all his life among them. Why is he so unsatisfactory, so contemptible? Why can't he get a valet to stay with him longer than a few months? Just because he is too lazy and pleasure-loving to hunt and shoot. He strums the piano, and sketches, and runs after married women, and reads literary books and poems. He actually plays the flute; but I never let him bring it into my house. If he would only—[she is interrupted by the melancholy strains of a flute coming from an open window above. She raises herself indignantly in the hammock]. Randall, you have not gone to bed. Have you been listening? [The flute replies pertly]. How vulgar! Go to bed instantly, Randall: how dare you? [The window is slammed down. She subsides]. How can anyone care for such a creature!
MRS HUSHABYE. Addy: do you think Ellie ought to marry poor Alfred merely for his money?
MANGAN [much alarmed]. What's that? Mr
