BELLE.
What good hands he has, hasn’t he? (Approaching TOPSY and whispering in her ear.) Your hair’s going into your eyes, my dear. Toss it back in that pretty way you have. (TOPSY tosses her head; the soft, golden bell of hair quivers elastically about her ears.) That’s right!
CAIN.
(Bounding into the air and landing with feet apart, knees bent, and a hand on either knee.) Oh, nyum nyum!
ASTON.
Oh, the beauty of that movement! It simply makes one catch one’s breath with surprised pleasure, as the gesture of a perfect dancer might.
SIR JASPER.
Beautiful, wasn’t it?—a pleasure purely æsthetic and æsthetically pure. Listen to Cain.
ASTON.
(To TOPSY.) And do you ever try writing yourself? I’m sure you ought to.