Oh, Mr. Gunning!
Gunning.
Viewed from the hill-tops rather a pitiful sort of war, in which can be won neither the full joys of love nor the complete glories of battle.
Mrs. Parbury.
Oh, Mr. Gunning!
Gunning.
I remain single, Mrs. Parbury, quite without happiness—except in the reflection that I am neither an oppressor exercising a daily tyranny, nor a slave rightly struggling to be free.
Mrs. Parbury.
Of course I don’t in the least agree with you. [The telephone bell rings.] [Rising.] There’s some one on the telephone—forgive me. [Goes to telephone box and puts the communicator to her ear.] Are you there?—yes—who are you?—the article—yes—no, you can’t have it to-day—no, it hasn’t a million to one chance of being finished. [To Gunning, with a smile.] That’s Clement’s slang, not mine. [Again into telephone.] What?
Enter Parbury and Miss Woodward, R.