'Er, gentlemen,' said Mr Bucket. 'Ahem. All right. Cards on the table, eh? I'm a simple man, me. No beating about the bush, speak as you find, call a spade a spade–'

'Do give us your forthright views,' said Salzella. Definitely that kind of owner, he thought. Self‑made man proud of his handiwork. Confuses bluffness and honesty with merely being rude. I wouldn't mind betting a dollar that he thinks he can tell a man's character by testing the firmness of his handshake and looking deeply into his eyes.

'I've been through the mill, I have,' Bucket began, 'and I made myself what I am today–'

Self‑raising flour? thought Salzella.

'–but I have to, er, declare a bit of a financial interest. Her dad did, er, in fact, er, lend me a fair whack of money to help me buy this place, and he made a heartfelt fatherly request in regard to his daughter. If I bring it to mind correctly, his exact words, er, were: "Don't make me have to break your legs." I don't expect you artistes to understand. It's a business thing. The gods help those who help themselves, that's my motto.'

Salzella stuck his hands in his waistcoat pockets, leaned back and started to whistle softly.

'I see,' said Undershaft. 'Well, it's not the first time it's happened. Normally it's a ballerina, of course.'

'Oh, it's nothing like that,' said Bucket hurriedly.

'It's just that with the money comes this girl Christine. And you have to admit, she does look good.'

'Oh, very well,' said Salzella. 'It's your Opera House, I'm sure. And now... Perdita...?'

They smiled at one another.

'Perdita!' said Bucket, relieved to get the Christine business over so that he could go back to being bluff and honest again.

'Perdita X,' Salzella corrected him.

'What will these girls think of next?'