Oh, I’m all right, I s’pose. Isn’t it hot?
De Castro.
Not at his ease with her. It ith inclined that way.
Daphne Dure, Nita Trevenna, Douglas Glynn, and Albert Palk enter at the door on the left. Nita is a tall, handsome girl, Daphne a plump, little, fair, baby-faced thing. They are charmingly dressed, as are all the ladies of the Pandora Theatre. Glynn and Palk—the latter a short, thick-set man who might reasonably be a low comedian—are two professional-looking gentlemen of the best class. The arrivals are warmly hailed by Fulkerson, Von Rettenmayer, Heneage, and Grimwood and, with more reserve, by Mrs. Stidulph. Stidulph has seated himself wearily in the armchair on the nearer side of the fireplace and, beyond listening to Bland who is talking to him, has withdrawn himself from the proceedings.
Fulkerson.
To Farncombe. Here’s Daphne Dure—and Nita Trevenna. Going to the new comers. Hullo, Daphne! Hullo, Nita! How’r’yer, Douglas! Hullo, Albert!
Daphne and Nita.
How d’ye do, Bertie? To Von Rettenmayer. How d’ye do, Von?
Von Rettenmayer.
Kissing their hands. Dear ladies! To Glynn and Palk. Aha, Mr. Glynn—Mr. Balk—!