CHARTERIS (to the page). Off with you, my boy: Dr. Paramore's waiting breathless with expectation.
PAGE BOY (seriously). Indeed, sir. (He hurries off.)
CHARTERIS. That boy will make his way in this country. He has no sense of humour. (Grace comes in. Her dress, very convenient and businesslike, is made to please herself and serve her own purposes without the slightest regard to fashion, though by no means without a careful concern for her personal elegance. She enters briskly, like an habitually busy woman.)
SYLVIA (running to her). Here you are at last Tranfield, old girl. I've been waiting for you this last hour. I'm starving.
GRACE. All right, dear. (To Charteris.) Did you get my letter?
CHARTERIS. Yes. I wish you wouldn't write on those confounded blue letter cards.
SYLVIA (to Grace). Shall I go down first and secure a table?
CHARTERIS (taking the reply out of Grace's mouth). Do, old boy.
SYLVIA. Don't be too long. (She goes into the dining room.)
GRACE. Well?