Mrs. Pampinelli. Mr. Spindler!
Teddy. [Opening the right door] Come on, Nelly!
Spindler. [Half-way back, at the left] Take it up! [Rushing forward at the left] Yes?
Mrs. Pampinelli and Mrs. Fell, together.
Mrs. Pampinelli. [To Spindler] Keep it going up and down till I tell you to stop! And keep it up the next time till the gentlemen get the flowers!
Mrs. Fell. [Shrinking away a little more to the right of the door, but still preening herself, almost hysterically, and breaking into a little nervous laugh] Oh, no, really, dear! I wouldn’t think of it! [Teddy goes through the right door. The curtain can be seen rising again; then the door closes after him; and Mrs. Fell continues talking, to herself.] Why, what have I done that I should go on. I wouldn’t mind if I’d taken some part in the play,—but I certainly don’t see—
Mrs. Pampinelli. [Rushing back to the right] Go on, Nelly! what are you waiting for? [The curtain descends again. Mrs. Fell rushes towards Mrs. Pampinelli.]
Mrs. Fell. [Handing Mrs. Pampinelli the rolled manuscript] Hold this!
Mrs. Pampinelli. Hurry, dear! [Mrs. Fell rushes to the right door, settles herself finally, and flings the door open. The curtain is just rising. And, placing one hand upon her bosom, dropping her eyes and smiling, Nelly sways through the door, acknowledging the plaudits. Mrs. Pampinelli, standing in the middle of the stage, applauds, also, hitting the manuscript against her hand. The door closes after Mrs. Fell. Mrs. Sheppard, over at the left, suddenly bursts into tears and buries her face in her handkerchief. Mrs. Pampinelli turns quickly and looks at her, then crosses towards her.] Do you want to take a bow, Clara?
Mrs. Sheppard. Oh, no, thank you! [Mrs. Pampinelli turns back to the left door.]
Mrs. Pampinelli. Get those flowers, boys! Keep it up, Mr. Stage Manager! Come on, Clara! go on for a bow! [Reaches for Mrs. Sheppard’s hand]
Mrs. Sheppard. [Giving Mrs. Pampinelli her hand, and allowing herself to be drawn towards the right] Do you think they’d understand, Betty?
Mrs. Pampinelli. Of course, they would, my dear! They know it isn’t your fault that you’re not appearing! [Mrs. Fell thrusts open the right door. She has a basket of roses in her hand.]