Mrs. Ritter. Don’t mind him, Betty,—he’s only trying to show off.
Mrs. Pampinelli. [With bitter amusement] No, but I’m a bit curious—to know just how Mr. Ritter would expect to accomplish the establishment of a Little Theatre here, unless through the medium of such performances as this one this evening. How else is our local talent to be discovered—or developed?
Ritter. Well, I’m equally curious, Mrs. Pampinelli, as to your exact qualifications—as a discoverer or developer of talent for the theatre.
Mrs. Pampinelli. That is a very familiar attitude. People who do things—are constantly having their ability to do them called into question. [She moves a step further forward and towards Mrs. Ritter.]
Ritter. I’m afraid that’s something you’ve read somewhere. [She glares at him.]
Mrs. Pampinelli. The theatre is a matter of instinct.
Ritter. The theatre is a matter of qualifications,—the same as any other profession; and it will only be through those particular qualifications that your Little Theatre will ever be brought about. [He crosses over in front of Mrs. Fell and up towards the center-door.]
Mrs. Pampinelli. Well, perhaps you will come to the rescue;—you seem so familiar with the various necessities of the Little Theatre. [He stops, just to the left of the center-door, and looks at Mrs. Pampinelli straight.]
Ritter. [Quietly] I am also familiar, Mrs. Pampinelli, with a little remark that Mr. Napoleon made on one occasion, a long time ago;—about the immorality of assuming a position for which one is unqualified. [There is a pause,—he settles his coat on his arm, then moves slowly out through the center-door into the hallway: while Mrs. Pampinelli, with an expression of eternal exclusion, moves over between the piano and the table towards the window.]
Mrs. Ritter. [Turning] Fred Ritter, where are you going?