It is. I am Mr. Tempenny. Come up do.
ROSALINE.
No kid?
REMBRANDT TEMPENNY.
Not yet—I am recently married.
ROSALINE.
I mean you are really Mr. Tempenny.
REMBRANDT TEMPENNY.
Really and truly. (Withdraws from window, wreathed in smiles.) How do I look? (Smoothes his hair before mirror.) Perhaps she is a buyer—I had better appear busy—or inspired. (Seats himself and adopts a far-away engrossed expression.) "Rembrandt Tempenny at Home."
Knock at door. Enter ROSALINE.