It's teatime and Lady Cora asks after Uncle Harold; Martha tells her that his idée fixe is yachts. "Bigger yachts, faster yachts... something with yachts." Rather than ask how much yachts are going for these days, Lady Cora asks if he's happy, but Martha snorts that he's far too busy to find out. The Dowager Countess remarks how strange it is to her that Lady Cora has a brother, explaining, "There's no such thing as an English heiress with a brother." Heh. She asks why they never see him, so Martha tells her he hates to leave America. The Dowager Countess: "Curious -- he hates to leave America; I should hate to go there." Mary, since you're younger, you might want to introduce your paternal grandmother to the idea of a sales pitch. Mary course-corrects her, saying she can't mean that when they're both so drawn to -- AHEM -- "America," and the Dowager Countess cottons on, saying that it's true, given how strong the bond between the Crawleys and the Levinsons is. Martha already looks like she'd be searching for the candid camera if that show (or television) existed yet, and even Lady Cora is like, "That's nice... if you mean it." Heh. The Dowager Countess affirms her sincerity though, saying it's wonderful how the families support each other, but Martha thinks she means the Crawleys needed the Levinson cash to keep them on top. Good read, Martha; just adjust your tenses and you're there. Mary steps in to say they wouldn't quite put it that way, but they do hope Martha feels Lady Cora's fortune has been well spent, to which Martha replies, "Well, you gotta spend it on somethin'." For once, we don't end with a line from the Dowager Countess, but her face is like, "This is going to be harder than I thought."
Matthew is putting on his tailcoat when he notices a hole in it. I don't blame you for falling prey to Thomas here, Alfred, but you're not a kid who broke a vase -- you've got to own up to the problem. He starts to stutter out about the mark, but Matthew's like, I know there was a mark, but maybe clean it by means other than acid or fire? He says he'll just have to go down in his dinner jacket and then, seeing Alfred looking like a scolded puppy, Matthew tells him it's fine -- he can just send the tailcoat to London in the morning for mending. With all the society at Downton, there's no closer tailor?
Carson comes rushing up to Mrs. Hughes in a tizzy about the pudding wine glasses not having been laid out; he then lectures her about everyone pulling their weight until they can get the staff levels back up to snuff. It's hard to believe that no one below stairs has heard about the financial ruin, given that the hiring freeze should especially have opened their ears for any such talk.