MARY. Lor, ma’am! Well, I’ve often wondered myself if it was quite decent for a gentleman like Mr. Broxopp to write about things that aren’t spoken of in ordinary give-and-take conversation. But then——
NANCY (with pretty dignity). That is not the point, Mary. An artist has no limitations of that sort. And—and you’re interrupting me at my work.
MARY (going over to her and just touching her lightly on the shoulder). Bless you, dearie, you are fond of him, aren’t you?
NANCY. Oh, I just love him. (Eagerly) And he must have that chop to himself, Mary, and I’ll tell you [7]what I’ll do. I’ll write him a little note to say I’ve been invited out to dinner—and who do you think is going to invite me? Why, you! And we’ll have our bread and cheese together in the kitchen. Won’t that be fun? (Suddenly looking tragic) Oh!
MARY. What’s the matter, ma’am?
NANCY. Why, perhaps he’ll go out again directly after dinner and then I shan’t have seen him all day! (After thinking it over) No, Mary, I shall have dinner with him. (Firmly) But I shall say I’m not hungry. (There is a sound of whistling on the stairs.) Listen, there’s Jim! Oh, Mary, go quickly! He hasn’t seen me for such a long time and he’ll like to find me alone.
MARY (sympathetically). I know, ma’am.
[She goes out.
(The GREAT BROXOPP comes in. He wears a tail-coat of the period, a wide-awake hat, and a spreading blue tie—“The Broxopp tie” as it is called in later years. He is twenty-five at this time, but might be any age, an impetuous, enthusiastic, flamboyant, simple creature; candid, generous; a gentleman, yet with no manners; an artist, yet not without vulgarity. His beliefs are simple. He believes in himself and NANCY; but mostly in himself.)
BROXOPP. Nancy!