Austin. Good luck, dear.
Jinny. [Brightening.] What time is it?
Austin. [Looking at his watch.] Nearly nine.
Jinny. I suppose it is too late for me to dress and for us to go to the theatre?
Austin. Oh, yes,—and I'm too tired.
Jinny. [Triumphantly.] Well, then, you shall have your theatre at home! If Mahomet won't go to the mountain, the mountain must go to your lordship!
Austin. I don't understand!
Jinny. Well, just wait— [She blows her nose.] —till I bathe my face and eyes a little; I feel rather bleary! [Starting to go, she stops and turns.] Good-by?
[Questioningly.
Austin. [Quietly.] Good-by.