Dibbs. Suttingly, mum! (Going towards door.)
Mrs. S. And, Dibbs,—ahem—you need not mention your errand to my husband.
Dibbs. Not for the world, ma’am. (Aside.) Another secret! If this don’t get me a rise at the end of the month nothing will!
(Exit at back.
Grace. It is good of you, mamma, to help us at a time when papa seems so unreasonable—I will never have Mr. Bellamy, never!
Mrs. S. You never shall, my darling, but hush, here comes one of the enemy. (They sit, one on R., the other on L.)
Enter Fred still with Directory and hat in his hands; he falls exhausted in arm chair.
Fred. Pouf! A nice time I have had of it! (Seeing ladies and coming C.) Oh! I beg pardon, Mrs. Selwyn and Miss Grace! (They take no notice of him.) They don’t hear me apparently! (Aloud.) It’s very cool to-day, don’t you think so? (They turn their backs on him and give him the cut direct; Mrs. Selwyn, R., Grace, L.) This is strange! May I ask if Mr. Selwyn has gone out? (They remain silent.) Is this a joke or a new parlor game? (Speaking loudly.) I beg pardon, but is Mr. Selwyn at home?
Mrs. S. (turning towards him with icy coldness). Were you addressing us, Mr. Bellamy?
Fred. Yes! that was my intention!