Where is she, dear lad?
OLIVER. It isn't nine yet.
CURATE (looking at his watch). Past nine, past nine.
OLIVER (jumping up). Je-hoshaphat!
CURATE. Oliver! Oliver! My dear lad! Swearing at _your_ age! Really, I
almost feel it my duty to inform your aunt---
OLIVER. Fat lot of swearing in just mentioning one of the Kings of
Israel.
CURATE. Of Judah, dear boy, of Judah. To be ignorant on such a vital
matter makes it even more reprehensible. I cannot believe that our
dear Miss Pinniger has so neglected your education that----
_Enter our dear MISS PINNIGER, the Governess_.
GOVERNESS. Ah, Mr. Smilax; how pleasant to see you!
CURATE. My dear Miss Pinniger! You will forgive me for interrupting
you in your labours, but there is a small matter of--ah!---
GOVERNESS. Certainly, Mr. Smilax. I will walk down to the gate with
you. Oliver, where is Geraldine?
OLIVER. Aunt Jane wanted her.
GOVERNESS. Well, you should be at your lessons. It's nine o'clock. The
fact that I am momentarily absent from the room should make no
difference to your zeal.
OLIVER (without conviction). No, Miss Pinniger. (He sits down at his
desk, putting "Marooned in the Pacific" inside it.)
CURATE (playfully). For men must work, Oliver, men must work.
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