WAITER (aside to her). Startled at first, miss; but resigned—very resigned, indeed, miss. (He takes the stick and coat into the hotel.)
McCOMAS (having stared Crampton out of countenance). So here you are, Mr. Crampton.
CRAMPTON. Yes, here—caught in a trap—a mean trap. Are those my children?
PHILIP (with deadly politeness). Is this our father, Mr. McComas?
McCOMAS. Yes—er— (He loses countenance himself and stops.)
DOLLY (conventionally). Pleased to meet you again. (She wanders idly round the table, exchanging a smile and a word of greeting with Valentine on the way.)
PHILIP. Allow me to discharge my first duty as host by ordering your wine. (He takes the wine list from the table. His polite attention, and Dolly's unconcerned indifference, leave Crampton on the footing of the casual acquaintance picked up that morning at the dentist's. The consciousness of it goes through the father with so keen a pang that he trembles all over; his brow becomes wet; and he stares dumbly at his son, who, just conscious enough of his own callousness to intensely enjoy the humor and adroitness of it, proceeds pleasantly.) Finch: some crusted old port for you, as a respectable family solicitor, eh?
McCOMAS (firmly). Apollinaris only. I prefer to take nothing heating. (He walks away to the side of the terrace, like a man putting temptation behind him.)
PHILIP. Valentine—?
VALENTINE. Would Lager be considered vulgar?