POLICEMAN. Lady?
CINDERELLA (in a tremble of exultation). That’s me. That’s what you’re called at royal balls. Then loud huzzas is heard outside from the excited popu-lace, for by this time the fame of my beauty has spread like wild-fire through the streets, and folks is hanging out at windows and climbing lamp-posts to catch a sight of me.
(Delight of the children.)
POLICEMAN. My sakes, you see the whole thing clear!
CINDERELLA. I see it from beginning to end—like as if I could touch it—the gold walls and the throne, and the lamp-posts and the horses.
POLICEMAN. The horses?
CINDERELLA. ... Well, the competitors. The speeches—everything. If only I had my invite! That wasn’t a knock at the door, was it?
POLICEMAN (so carried away that he goes to see). No.
CINDERELLA (vindictively). I daresay that flunkey’s sitting drinking in some public-house.
(Here MARIE-THERESE and GLADYS, who have been communicating across their boxes, politely invite the POLICEMAN to go away.)