Olive.
Quite right; thank you.
[He withdraws. She eagerly scrutinises the cards, re-arranges them upon the table, then goes to the fireplace and stands waiting impatiently. John re-enters, carrying a decanter of champagne and some biscuits in a silver dish, which he places on a side-table.
John.
This is the Moet we had just begun to drink when we—— You rather liked it, I fancy.
Olive.
Some people have called; they’re waiting to see you.
John.
[Turning.] People—so late?
Olive.