[They explain mutually. Avonia Bunn enters—an untidy, tawdrily-dressed young woman of about three-and-twenty, with the airs of a suburban soubrette.]
Avonia.
[Embracing Imogen.] Dear old girl!
Imogen.
Well, Avonia?
Avonia.
This is jolly, seeing you again. My eye, what a rig-out! She'll be up directly. [With a gulp.]She's taking a last look-round at our room.
Imogen.
You've been crying, 'Vonia.