It's true. I was one of the few stall-holders at the Army and Navy Bazaar whose gowns you didn't describe—[Seeing Philip and nodding to him hazily.] How d'ye do?
Roope.
[Prompting her.] Mr. Mackworth——
[Mrs. Anslow goes to Philip and proffers him a limp hand. Green retreats to the fireplace and Mrs. Quebec rises and pursues him.
Mrs. Anslow.
[To Philip.] I think we met once at my cousins', the Fairfields'.
Philip.
[Bowing.] Yes.
Mrs. Anslow.
You write, don't you?