Mrs. Pampinelli. [To Florence] Go on.
Florence. [Repeating her former business of putting on a deadlatch] Deadlatch.
Spindler. [Having again assumed his rigid military attitude] Click—click. [Florence turns and crosses again between the piano and the table.]
Florence. [With a glance at the center-door] You can come out now, Clyde, they’ve gone. [She continues to her former position at the right of the little table at the left. Hossefrosse steps resolutely through the center-door, gives her a wicked look, glances toward the door at the right, then strides forward and plants himself directly opposite her, his head thrown back, his eyes ablaze, and his arms akimbo.]
Hossefrosse. Did you come here to make a scene!
Florence. [Languidly, and without turning] Have I made one?
Hossefrosse. [Getting loud] What are you doing here?
Florence. [Raising her hand to enjoin silence] Sh-sh—[He turns abruptly and looks toward the door at the right; then back to her again.]
Hossefrosse. I want an explanation of this!
Florence. [Turning to him, and rather casually] So do I.