MRS. RANKLING.
Yes, Archibald.
RANKLING.
Your bonnet's on one side again.
MRS. RANKLING.
[Adjusting it.] Thank you, Archibald. We leave town for the holidays to-morrow; it rests with Dinah whether she spends Christmas in her papa's society or not.
RANKLING.
Don't twitch your fingers, Emma—don't twitch your fingers.
MRS. RANKLING.
[Nervously.] It's a habit, Archibald.