What is it, Mr. Briggs?
LANCELOT (swallowing)
Noth—nothin’. (He goes out.)
MRS. CURTIS (turning, after a moment’s faintly smiling meditation)
You poor thing!
THE MYSTERIOUS VOICE (in an aggrieved tone)
Well, I should say I am!
(She goes to the Philippine chair, near the right rear corner, and, moving a smaller chair close to it, seats herself and addresses the invisible person, who is evidently sitting in the shelter of the big chair.)
MRS. CURTIS