[From the private room.] Oh, no, madam, I promise I won't forget. Certainly not, I take too much interest in your daughter's nails for that.
This is her.
[A middle-aged lady enters from the private room, followed by Sophy Fullgarney. The customer pays at the desk while Sophy rattles on. Sophy is a pretty, elegant, innocently vulgar, fascinating young woman of six-and-twenty.
Sophy.
[With the air of the proprietress of a prosperous establishment.] Oh, yes, it did slip my memory to come on Thursday, didn't it? The truth is I had a most racking head, a thing I never have—well, I oughtn't to say never have, ought I? [To Miss Limbird.] Now, Miss Limbird, see that two pots of Crème de Mimosa are posted to Mrs. Arment, Carlos Place; and book me, please—me—you thoroughly understand?—to attend upon Miss Arment to-morrow evening at seven. [Accompanying the customer, who now withdraws.] To-morrow evening at seven—without fail. [Raising her voice.] The door, Miss Claridge. Good morning, madam. Good afternoon.
[The door-gong sounds.
Sophy.
Come, girls, you can get to your lunches.
[Miss Limbird leaves her desk and goes out.