[Crossing to the fireplace, rubbing his hands, as John retires to the dining-room.] Oh, my dear Phil, this dreadful climate after the sunshine of the Lago Maggiore!
Philip.
[Walking about and spouting, in high spirits.] "Italia! O Italia! thou who hast the fatal gift of beauty——!"
Roope.
Sir Loftus and Lady Glazebrook were moving on to Rome, or I really believe I could have endured another month at their villa, bores as they are, dear kind souls! [Looking towards the dining-room, where John and the waiter are now placing a handsome centre-piece of flowers upon the round table.] Hallo! A dinner-party, Phil?
Philip.
Dinner-party? A banquet!
Roope.
To celebrate the success of the book?
Philip.