No, I haven't. [Breaking down.] If I have I can't help it. Rose and I have chummed together—all this season—and part of last—and—it's a hateful profession! The moment you make a friend—————!
[Looking toward the door.] There! isn't she a dream? I dressed her——
[She moves away, as Rose Trelawny and Arthur Gower enter. Rose is nineteen, wears washed muslin, and looks divine. She has much of the extravagance of gesture, over-emphasis in speech, and freedom of manner engendered by the theatre, but is graceful and charming nevertheless. Arthur is a handsome, boyish young man—"all eyes" for Rose.]
Rose.
[Meeting Imogen.] Dear Imogen!
Imogen.
[Kissing her.] Rose, dear!
Rose.
To think of your journeying from the West to see me make my exit from Brydon Crescent! But you're a good sort; you always were. Do sit down and tell me—oh—! let me introduce Mr. Gower. Mr. Arthur Gower—Miss Imogen Parrott. The Miss Parrott of the Olympic.