Mrs. Stidulph.
To Von Rettenmayer. I hate blowing my own trumpet, but I was looking through my press-cuttings only yesterday. I’ve never seen such notices as I had for “Polly Taggart.”
Von Rettenmayer.
Closing his eyes. Vavourable?
Mrs. Stidulph.
Favourable! They make me blush to read them. Stupid of me; but they make me blush, positively.
Jimmie comes to Lily, Bland following her. On her way she sees the handkerchief and powder-puff lying upon the floor.
Jimmie.
Why, there it is! Picking up the handkerchief and puff, and rubbing the puff, which is an extremely ragged one, over her nose—singing sentimentally. “There are no friends like the old friends, The constant, tried, and true;—” Sitting beside Lily. Room for a little ’un?
Lily, without interrupting her talk with Farncombe, lays her hand on Jimmie’s for a moment.