In a fortnight.
Oh, my poor darling!
Bastling.
I must see her again to-morrow. I've something serious to propose to her.
Sophy.
[Half in eagerness, half in fright.] Have you?
Bastling.
But to-morrow it must be alone, Sophy; I can't say what I have to say in a few hasty whispers, with all your girls flitting about—and perhaps a customer or two here. Alone!
Sophy.