Mr. T. Well, now, I declare I sort of recognised those voices! (Heartily.) Why, how are you getting along in Vernis? We're gettin' along fust-rate. Say, Maud, here's your friend alongside!
[Miss P. presents a stony silence.
Miss T. (in an undertone). I don't see how you can act so, Poppa,—when you know she's just as mad with me!
Mr. T. There! Dumned if I didn't clean forget you were out! But, see here, now—why cann't we let bygones be bygones?
Bob. (impulsively). Just what I think, Mr. Trotter, and I'm sure my sister will——
Miss P. Bob, will you kindly not make the situation more awkward than it is? If I desired a reconciliation, I think I am quite capable of saying so!
Miss T. (in confidence to the Moon). This Ark isn't proposing to send out any old dove, either—we've no use for an olive-branch. (To Mr. T.) That's "Santa Lucia" they're singing now, Poppa.
Mr. T. They don't appear to me to get the twist on it they did at Bellagio!
Miss T. You mean that night Charley took us out on the Lake? Poor Charley! he'd just love to be here—he's ever so much artistic feeling!
Mr. T. Well, I don't see why he couldn't have come along if he'd wanted.