Oh, Gaylustre, I shan’t be able to meet it.
Mrs. Gaylustre.
Shan’t you? Well, I dare say Jo and I will renew—if you make much of us and pet us. Meanwhile, don’t think of the Bills.
Lady Twombley.
Think of ’em! I eat them—they’re on every ménu; I drink them—they label the champagne. My pillows are stuffed with them, for I hear their rustle when I turn my restless head. Small as those strips of blue are, they paper every wall of my home!
Mrs. Gaylustre.
I should drive out, then, as much as possible.
Lady Twombley.
When I do the sky is blue!
Mrs. Gaylustre.