Sophy.
Bless 'em, I don't know how they'd contrive without me!
Pollitt.
Contrive—?
Sophy.
[Fondly.] You old stupid! whenever Muriel is coming to be manicured she sends Captain Bastling a warning overnight; [squeezing Pollitt's arm, roguishly] this kind of thing—"My heart is heavy and my nails are long. To-morrow—three-thirty." Ha, ha, ha!
Pollitt.
Dearest, let me advise you—
Sophy.
[Her hand upon his lips.] Ah, don't lecture! [Bastling saunters forward to attract Sophy's attention.] Oh—! [To Pollitt, hurriedly.] Go now. Pop in again by-and-by. [Caressingly.] Um-m-m! my love!