LORD WILLIAM DROMONDY'S mansion in Park Lane. Eight o'clock of the evening. LITTLE ANNE DROMONDY and the large footman, JAMES, gaunt and grin, discovered in the wine cellar, by light of gas. JAMES, in plush breeches, is selecting wine.
L. ANNE: James, are you really James?
JAMES. No, my proper name's John.
L. ANNE. Oh! [A pause] And is Charles's an improper name too?
JAMES. His proper name's Mark.
L. ANNE. Then is Thomas Matthew?
JAMES. Miss Anne, stand clear o' that bin. You'll put your foot through one o' those 'ock bottles.
L. ANNE. No, but James - Henry might be Luke, really?
JAMES. Now shut it, Miss Anne!
L. ANNE. Who gave you those names? Not your godfathers and godmothers?
JAMES. Poulder. Butlers think they're the Almighty. [Gloomily] But his name's Bartholomew.
L. ANNE. Bartholomew Poulder? It's rather jolly.
JAMES. It's hidjeous.
L. ANNE. Which do you like to be called - John or James?