Mrs. Pampinelli. [Standing at the right of the table below the piano] Oh, more imperious, Florence dear! [Florence and Hossefrosse look at her.] More of this. [She lifts her shoulders, eyebrows and chin, to illustrate her idea of the general hauteur of the line.] Much more.
Florence. [Vaguely] Don’t you think she would cry there? [Mrs. Pampinelli looks at her steadily for a pause and thinks: then she rests her lead-pencil on the table and tilts her head a bit to one side.]
Mrs. Pampinelli. Do you want to cry there, dear?
Florence. No, but I can if you want me to.
Mrs. Pampinelli. No,—personally, I think she’s speaking more in anger than in sorrow. You see, dear, you are impersonating a wronged wife. Now, you yourself, Florence darling, are an unmarried girl:—it is difficult for you to realize how excessively annoyed with her husband a married woman can become. I think I would take it with more lift. More of this, you know. [She repeats her former illustration.]
Florence. [Endeavoring to imitate the manner of delivery, and speaking in a deep, tragic tone] So do I.
Mrs. Pampinelli. Perfect.
Hossefrosse. [Turning to Mrs. Pampinelli] Go on?
Mrs. Pampinelli. Yes, go on.
Hossefrosse. [Clearing his throat and trying to summon his attack] What is your reason for sneaking into my office at this hour?