GREEN. Yes, I comprenez vous—my safety depends on my taisez vous. What a dreadful situation is mine! If this is having an aristocratic flirtation, I don’t care how soon I get democratic in my penchants again. This terrible Countess is a perfect masked battery; I shouldn’t wonder if she had a Colt’s revolver inside her parasol, and that a cartouche box did duty for a certain popular appendix to the female figure. I declare I feel quite nervous and agitated—I’ll go and smoke a cigar in the garden. (takes a cigar from his case) Hah! I wish they may ever catch me running away with a Countess again.
Exit through window at back, to garden, and disappears.
BETSY looks from room R., and then enters, carrying a small brown trunk with an address card on the top.
BETSY. (speaking to MRS. G. inside) All’s clear, mum!
Enter MRS. G. from room R.
He’s smoking his cigar in the garden. Now here I lays the trap that’s to catch him—your trunk, with your address upon it. (puts trunk in centre of room)
MRS. G. So that when he sees it, he may be aware that I am here in my proper person.
BETSY. Exactly, mum; and as there’s a way by a passage at the back of the hotel from your room there, (pointing R.) to this apartment on the other side. (points to door 2 E. L.) Nothing can be easier than to come out of that door as the Countess, and out of that door as Mrs. Greenfinch, according as your game goes.
MRS. G. I understand perfectly—but I see him returning. Let’s get away. (they return into room R.)
Enter GREENFINCH, C., from garden, smoking a cigar.