(She goes out at the left. Mrs. Briggs stares after her for a moment; looks in the opposite direction; then seats herself upon the settee, and from the midst of a handkerchief which she has crumpled in her hand produces a small gold vanity box. She opens it, gazes in the tiny mirror, touches her hair, glances right and left, and uses a diminutive powder puff quickly; then she closes the box, conceals it in her handkerchief again, and hums a song to herself. Mr. Ingoldsby enters at the left. He has an air slightly embarrassed.)
MRS. BRIGGS (as if surprised)
Oh!
INGOLDSBY
Ah—I was here a while ago. It was a little earlier than our—our appointment; if I may call it so. (He laughs nervously.)
MRS. BRIGGS (smiling)
Well, I suppose it could be called an appointment—in a way.
INGOLDSBY
I—I thought—that is, I’ve noticed this was about the only place in the hotel where there aren’t usually a lot of people. I suggested it because—because I had something to say—ah—I mean that I thought it would be as well to say it in private—as it were. That is, if we were alone together, I—ah—that is to say, it’s something I couldn’t very well say in—in public, so to speak. I mean it would be difficult with other people present.
MRS. BRIGGS (smiling nervously)