MAGGIE. Do you know him?
COMTESSE. Do I know him! The last time I saw him he asked me to—to—hem!—ma cherie, it was thirty years ago.
MAGGIE. Thirty years!
COMTESSE. I was a pretty woman then. I dare say I shall detest him now; but if I find I do not—let us have a little plot—I shall drop this book; and then perhaps you will be so charming as—as not to be here for a little while?
[MR. VENABLES, who enters, is such a courtly seigneur that he seems to bring the eighteenth century with him; you feel that his sedan chair is at the door. He stoops over MAGGIE’s plebeian hand.]
VENABLES. I hope you will pardon my calling, Mrs. Shand; we had such a pleasant talk the other evening.
[MAGGIE, of course, is at once deceived by his gracious manner.]
MAGGIE. I think it’s kind of you. Do you know each other? The Comtesse de la Briere.
[He repeats the name with some emotion, and the COMTESSE, half mischievously, half sadly, holds a hand before her face.]
VENABLES. Comtesse.