Blith. (aside). What does she mean? (Aloud.) No doubt, mum, so have I!
Mrs. S. Would you, I tremble to ask it, but, oh!—would you mind writing something in my poor little album?
Blith. (hesitating). Well, mum——
Mrs. S. I know it’s asking too much—but just one line—one little line!
Blith. Well, while I was about it, I might as well dash off a page or two!—you know I have several styles. (Flourishing hand as if holding pen.)
Mrs. S. I know! I know! Liquid lava runs from your pen as fluently as icy sarcasm. Excuse me one moment. (Aside.) I will fetch my album and get him to compose an impromptu while he is in the mood.
(Exit Mrs. Selwyn, R. 2 E.
Sel. (gratefully). Thanks for your generous silence! Had my wife an inkling about the events of yesterday my future would be blasted. Where do you live, sir?
Blith. Oh! In Bond street—same place where you have sent my hat.
Sel. (anxiously). Time is short now, but to-morrow I will call and make every reparation in my power, if an apology will be accepted.