Ritter. Why, what about her home? [Nelly Fell touches her hair and gives Mrs. Pampinelli a look of amused impatience.] She couldn’t very well walk away and leave that, could she?
Mrs. Pampinelli. Well, personally, Mr. Ritter, I have always felt that, where it is a question of talent, one should not allow himself to be deterred by purely personal considerations.
Mrs. Fell. She’s really awfully good, Fred! You wait till you see—You’ll want her to go yourself.
Ritter. [Stepping quietly to the table at the left and disposing of some cigar-ashes] She’ll have to be pretty good.
Mrs. Fell. Won’t he, Betty?
Mrs. Pampinelli. Well, as far as that is concerned, I think that the question of whether to be or or not to be an actress, is one that every woman must, at some time or other in her life, decide for herself. [Spindler hurries in from the right hallway and down to Mrs. Fell’s left, where he stands at attention, saluting, of course, as usual. Mr. Spindler is full of salutes. He was in the army;—drafted ten weeks before the armistice; and subjected throughout the long term of his service to the dangers and exposure of a clerkship in the Personnel at Upton. And he’s never gotten over it; being of that immature type of mind upon which the letter of the Military makes a profound impression. He’s a peppy person, thin and stilted,—in dinner clothes,—with sleek hair and goggle glasses: one of that distressing student-order that is inevitably to be found in the retinue of some Mrs. Pampinelli,—her social status and constant championship of so-called artistic movements affording him a legitimate indulgence of his particular weaknesses. So he becomes a kind of lead-pencil-bearer extraordinary to her ladyship; and her ladyship tolerates him,—for a variety of reasons; not the least of which is his unfailing attitude of acquiescence in all her opinions. And she has so many opinions,—and on so many different subjects, that this feature of Mr. Spindler’s disposition is far from inconsiderable. Then, he has a most highly developed faculty for small correctnesses,—an especially valuable asset, in view of the enormous amount of detail work incidental to Mrs. Pampinelli’s vast activities. He reminds her of things, or, “brings them to her attention,” as she puts it. For Mr. Spindler is one of those—fortunately few—people who remembers things—word for word—even the things he’s read—And he appears to have read most everything. And he quotes incessantly. As Mrs. Pampinelli has already observed of him, “he is one of those rare persons who never forsakes one in the hour of quotation.”] Look here, Nelly.
Mrs. Fell. Yes, dear. [Mrs. Ritter comes in from the left hallway carrying several punch-glasses, which she puts down on the hallway table.]
Mrs. Pampinelli. [Indicating a certain line in the manuscript with her lead-pencil] There are a couple of little changes here on page twelve—[Mrs. Fell opens her lorgnon and looks at the manuscript.] I have them marked.
Mrs. Fell. [Becoming conscious of Spindler at her left] Pardon me, Betty. [Turning to Spindler] Did you tell him, Mr. Spindler?