NANCY. Well, then, nonsense, darling. Only—I rather like nonsense.
(NANCY goes out. Left alone, the GREAT BROXOPP gets ready. He spreads out his tie, fingers his buttonhole, and sees that a volume of Shakespeare is well displayed on a chair. Then he sits down at his desk and is discovered by MISS JOHNS hard at it.)
BENHAM (announcing). Miss Johns.
(BENHAM goes out, leaving MISS JOHNS behind; a nervous young woman of about thirty, with pince-nez. But BROXOPP is being too quick for her. He has whisked the receiver off, and is busy saying, “Quite so,” and “Certainly, half a million bottles,” to the confusion of the girl at the Exchange.)
BROXOPP. Sit down, Miss Johns, won’t you? If you’ll excuse me just a moment—(Down the telephone) Yes ... yes, C.O.D. of course.... Good-bye. (He replaces the receiver and turns to her.) Well, Miss Johns, and what can I do for you?
MISS JOHNS (nervously). You saw my card, Mr. Broxopp?
BROXOPP. Did I? Then where did I put it? You’re from——?
MISS JOHNS. Contributor to The Queen and other leading journals.
BROXOPP. Yes, yes, of course. (Encouragingly) And you—er——
(He comes away from the desk, so that she can see him better. A little dazzled, she turns away, [24]looks round the room for inspiration, and catches sight of the picture.)