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IRIS. I want to marry Jack, Daddy Broxopp. But I don’t want to marry the Beans. I told Nancy so.

NANCY (to BROXOPP). I do understand, dear.

JACK. I don’t want you to think that Iris put this into my head. It’s always been there.

IRIS (frankly). I expect I brought it out, though.

BROXOPP. And what does Sir Roger say about it?

JACK. Sir Roger says that his grandson is not going to have a name that every Tom, Dick and Harry gapes at on the hoardings.

IRIS. I ought to explain that Jack wants to marry me, not Father’s way of expressing himself. I told Father so.

ssss1JACK. Still, you do see his—well, our point of view? Don’t you, Dad?

NANCY. Oh yes, dear.

BROXOPP. Certainly, my boy.

JACK (relieved). Good man. I thought you would.

BROXOPP (getting up). The only thing I’m wondering is whether there is any chance of your seeing mine.

JACK (surprised). Yours?

BROXOPP (on his own hearth—THE GREAT BROXOPP—but speaking quietly). I was educated at a Board school, Iris—I daresay you’ve noticed it. I used to drop my aitches—I don’t think you’ve noticed that—Nancy got me out of it. I wear funny clothes—partly because it is in keeping with the name I have made for myself; partly, I daresay, because I’ve got no taste. But, you see, at fourteen, the age at which Jack went to Eton, I was earning my own living. I took a resolve then. I told myself that one day I would make my name of Broxopp famous. I made it famous. My name; Broxopp. Well, that’s all. That’s my point of view. But don’t think I don’t see yours.