Mrs. Pampinelli. [Indicating the books on the table below the window] There’s a remarkable article in one of those books I brought, on a—gesture.
Mrs. R. [Looking at the books] Yes?
Mrs. Pampinelli. The little gray book I think it is, if I’m not mistaken. [She turns to her left and acknowledges Mr. Spindler with a touch of state.] Mr. Spindler—[He returns a smiling and very snappy little bow.] brought it to my attention,—[She turns back again to Paula, who has gone up at the right of the piano and is putting the furs on the partition-seat, while Spindler, becoming suddenly conscious that Ritter is looking at him, stiffens abruptly, glances at Ritter, and turns back again to Mrs. Pampinelli.] and it really is remarkable. So many of my own ideas—things that I have been advocating for years. I brought it especially for you, Paula,—so you must read it when you have time. [She picks up her lead-pencil from the little table and, tapping it against her right temple, thinks profoundly.] What is that wonderful line of Emerson’s that I’m so fond of—something about our unexpressed thoughts coming back to accuse us—[Turning to Spindler] You know all those things, Mr. Spindler.
Spindler. [Pedantically] Coming back to us “with an alienated majesty.”
Mrs. Pampinelli. That is the one I mean. [She turns back again to Paula, who has, by this time, come forward again at the right of the piano, while Mr. Spindler, again becoming conscious that Ritter is looking at him, gives him another glance, this time with a shade of resentment in it, and, coughing briefly, as an emphasis of his dignity, which Ritter’s general attitude somehow suggests is not being sufficiently esteemed, turns back to Mrs. Pampinelli.] Well, that is exactly what occurred to me when I read that article—My own thoughts returning to me from an alienated majesty. [She finishes her version of the quotation to Spindler and Mr. Ritter.] Oh, by the way,—[She gives a little mirthless laugh.] I’m afraid I’ve neglected to introduce Mr. Spindler [Indicating Ritter with a very casual gesture of her left hand, and picking up her lead-pencil from the little table] This is Mrs. Ritter’s husband, Mr. Spindler. [Spindler strides towards Ritter and extends his hand with that vigor which usually characterizes the greetings of unimportant persons.]
Spindler. Glad!
Ritter. [Tonelessly] How are you?
Mrs. Pampinelli. [Addressing Ritter directly] Mr. Spindler is a young man who has made quite an exhaustive study of the Little Theatre Movement throughout the country; [Spindler moves back towards his former position, and Paula, over at the right, takes a piece of fudge from a box on the little table below the casement-window.] and is working very hard to bring about something of the same kind here. [Ritter inclines his head, and Spindler listens to Mrs. Pampinelli, wreathed in smiles.] And is going to succeed, too, aren’t you, Mr. Spindler?
Spindler. [With a kind of pert assurance] Never fell down on a big job yet. [He gives a self-conscious little laugh and glances at Ritter, under whose coldly-appraising eye the laugh freezes instantly into a short, hollow cough. Then he turns away.]
Mrs. Pampinelli. I’m sure he has all the qualifications.