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BROXOPP. Sit down, Miss Johns, won’t you? If you’ll excuse me just a moment—(Down the telephone) Yes ... yes, C.O.D. of course.... Good-bye. (He replaces the receiver and turns to her.) Well, Miss Johns, and what can I do for you?

MISS JOHNS (nervously). You saw my card, Mr.Broxopp?

BROXOPP. Did I? Then where did I put it? You’re from——?

MISS JOHNS. Contributor to The Queen and other leading journals.

BROXOPP. Yes, yes, of course. (Encouragingly) And you—er——

(He comes away from the desk, so that she can see him better. A little dazzled, she turns away, [24]looks round the room for inspiration, and catches sight of the picture.)

MISS JOHNS (impulsively). Oh, Mr.Broxopp, is that IT?

BROXOPP (proudly). My boy Jack—Eton and Oxford—when he was a baby. You’ve seen the posters, of course.

MISS JOHNS. Who hasn’t, Mr.Broxopp?

BROXOPP. I always say I owe half my success to Jack. He was the first Broxopp baby—and now there are a million of them. I don’t know whether—er—you——?

MISS JOHNS (coyly). Oh, you flatter me, Mr.Broxopp. I’m afraid I was born a little too soon.