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BROXOPP. A pity, a pity. But no doubt your relations——

MISS JOHNS. Oh yes, my nephews and nieces—they are all Broxopp babies. And then I have always felt specially interested in Broxopp’s Beans, Mr.Broxopp, because I live in (archly) Bloomsbury, Mr.Broxopp.

BROXOPP. Really? When my wife (he looks towards the door in case she should be choosing that very opportune moment to come in), to whom I owe all my success—when my wife and I were first married——

MISS JOHNS (eagerly). I know, Mr.Broxopp. You see, that’s what makes me so interested. I live at Number26, too, in the floor below.

BROXOPP. Now, now, do you really? Well, I declare. That’s very curious.

MISS JOHNS. I’ve only been there the last few months. But the very first thing they told me when I took the room was that the Mr.Broxopp had begun his career in that house.

BROXOPP (pleased). Ah, they remember!... Yes, that was where I began. There was a man called Thomson ... but you wouldn’t be interested in him. He dropped out very soon. He had no faith. I paid ssss1him well—I was too generous, my wife said. But it was worth it to be alone. Ah, Miss Johns, you see me now in my beautiful home, surrounded by pictures, books—(He picks up the Shakespeare and reads the title) “The Works of Shakespeare” (and puts it down again)—costly furniture—all that money can buy. And perhaps you envy me. Yet I think I was happier in those old days at Bloomsbury when I was fighting for my life.... Did you ever read a little book called Broxoppiana?