As he enters with Smythe and Tavish. Haw, haw, haw! You’re wonderful, Chief. To Tavish. The Chief’s in great form, Willy. To Stidulph. Colonel, listen to the Chief.
Mrs. Stidulph.
To Von Rettenmayer, confidentially. Of course, this is strictly between ourselves—though I almost hinted as much to Smythe—but the fact is the Pandora isn’t in the least what it was, Karl.
Von Rettenmayer.
Noding is what it was, my dear Dolly, and nobody.
Mrs. Stidulph.
Fanning herself. I suppose he can’t find the artists; that’s it. If you don’t have the artists—! Shutting up her fan. You recollect my “Polly Taggart” in The Merry Milliner?
Von Rettenmayer.
Stifling a yawn. Gharming; gharming.
Farncombe is bending over Lily while she is eating her ice and they are talking lightly but intently. Gabrielle, finding that she is “out of it,” rises with a pout and, carrying her plate, joins the ladies and men who are at the fireplace. Bland enters with Jimmie at the door on the left.