Enid.
On the right. What did he say?
Von Rettenmayer.
He will think it over!
Enid.
Scornfully. Ha! That’s Smythe’s invariable formula, cunning old fox!
Von Rettenmayer.
But we are to dalk aboud it lader. I am waiding to ged him alone.
Enid.
Pff! You won’t get him alone, you stupid; he’ll take precious good care of that. Finding that Luigi and the waiters have departed, and walking across to the left. Ah, but it isn’t dancing my mind’s dwelling on just now, dear boy.