[At the word "Bootle," a wave of warm colour rushes over Alice and dyes her from neck to brow. If she is not an actress of sufficient calibre to ensure this, she must do the best she can by starting abruptly and putting her hand to her throat.
Alice (aside, in a choking voice). Mr Bootle! In love with Jane!
Jane. My dear! The man who took me down to dinner! Well!
Alice (picking up her work again and trying to be calm). What will you say?
Jane (rather pleased with herself). Well, really—I—this is—Mr
Bootle! Fancy!
Alice (starting up). Was that a ring? (She frowns at the prompter and a bell is heard to ring.) It is Mr Bootle! I know his ring, I mean I know—Dear, I think I will go and lie down. I have a headache.
[She looks miserably at the audience, closes her eyes, and goes off with her handkerchief to her mouth, taking care not to fall over the furniture.
Enter Mary, followed by James Bootle.
Mary. Mr Bootle. (Exit finally.)
Jane. Good-morning, Mr Bootle!