Helen advances R. C., severely watches Hattie play—with glasses on.
Hat. Well, you oughtn’t to do it. You’ll lose caste if you get to your seats without disturbing the performance.
Hattie playing softly while she talks.
Hel. (advancing to Beatrice, L. C.) Beatrice, you are well posted on Theatrical matters; is the play we are going to see to-night strictly proper?
Bea. I know nothing to the contrary. (closing album.)
Hattie plays ff.
Hel. (very angrily) Hattie! Take your foot off the loud pedal; we can’t hear ourselves speaking.
Hattie shuts up piano petulantly; pouting as sits on couch, back to audience.
Car. (rising) I was sorry Mr. Sillocks couldn’t come to dinner.