I fancy, Miss Wangel, it must have been merely a bee in your bonnet.
The New Assistant.
[Tenderly.] Still the same little singing-bird! Oh, Nora, my long-lost lark!
Hilda.
[Sulkily.] I'm not a lark—I'm a bird of prey—and when I get my claws into anything——!
The New Assistant.
Macaroons, for instance? I remember your tastes of old. See, Nora! [Produces a paper-bag from his coat-tail pocket.] They were fresh this morning!
Hilda.
[Wavering.] If you insist on calling me Nora, I think you must be just a little mad yourself.
The New Assistant.