I? [Wiping away a tear.] I am the Wardrobe-mistress of this theatre.
Rose.
You! [Embracing her.] Oh! oh!
Mrs. Telfer.
[Composing herself.] Miss Trelawny—Rose—my child, if we are set to scrub a floor—and we may come to that yet—let us make up our minds to scrub it legitimately—with dignity——
[She disappears and is seen no more.]
O'Dwyer.
Miss Trelawny! come here, my de——
Tom.
[To O'Dwyer.] Hush!