Nio. The gods, alas, are angered with me still. (sobbing)
Dunn. She’s at it again! No wonder the gods got tired. Don’t! please don’t cry; and we’ll hit upon some plan; if I only knew what to say to my family. (stands dejectedly C.)
Nio. Say whence I came—and how—tell them the truth!
Dunn. Tell them what? What d’ye take me for? Some outrageous, ridiculous lie might pass muster, but the truth, a truth like this! you couldn’t ask them to believe it. George Washington would have found this too strong for his veracity.
Nio. (R. C.) Who is Washington?
Dunn. Oh, he was an American fighting man; you wouldn’t know him. You were before his time. (looks at watch, at window) Is that the time? (goes round table to window; Niobe meanwhile lies full length on stage, head to R. on stool) They’ll be home from the Theatre presently; what am I to do? (turning up from window, comes down centre)
Sees Niobe and covers her feet with drapery from piano and goes again anxiously to window; Mary enters L. C., going to fire; Dunn rushes her off R. C.
Dunn. I’ll ring if I require coals. I’ll ring, Mary, ring—(coming down C.) Madame! Niobe! You can’t be seen like that, you must do something with yourself—(Niobe half rises) You’d better go upstairs and put some of my wife’s clothes on!
Nio. (kneeling) I tore my Peplos in excess of grief!
Dunn. Yes! Yes! I see you did; go upstairs, and dress while I think out some plan.