DANNY. Anything to oblige you, though it brings our social to a close. None of these little tea-parties after the war is over, fine lady!
PROBATIONER. Oh dear! I’ll often enjoy myself less, Danny.
DANNY. Daniel Duggan will sometimes think of this day when you are in your presentation gown and he is on your roof, looking for that there leakage.
PROBATIONER. Oh, Danny, don’t tell me that when I meet you with your bag of tools I’ll be a beast. Surely there will be at least a smile of friendship between us in memory of the old days.
DANNY. I wonder! That’s up to you, my lady. (But he will be wiser if he arranges that it is to be up to himself.)
PROBATIONER (calling attention to the music). Listen! No. 7—to-day is ours.
(She impulsively offers herself for the waltz; they dance together.)
DANNY (when all is over). Thank you, my lady.
(She curtseys and he goes out rather finely. It is not likely that her next partner will be equal to her plumber. The two girls are left alone, both nice girls of about the same age; but the poor one has already lived so long that the other, though there may be decades before her, will never make up on CINDERELLA. It would be grand to see this waif, the moment after death, setting off stoutly on the next adventure.)
CINDERELLA. He is a droll character, Danny! (Examining herself in a hand-mirror.) Nurse, would you say my hair is looking right? He likes the cap.