I'd rather you didn't go—Floyd. The next dance
(Looking at his card.) is ours. It will begin in a minute.
(Vanderlip does not know what to say. Freda urges him to continue toward door by tugging privily on his arm. Also she glances apprehensively at Mrs. McFee, who, with a set expression on face, has drawn nearer.)
VANDERLIP
(Hesitatingly.)
Really, Mrs. Eppingwell, I—
FREDA
(Interrupting, urging him by arm to start toward door.)
We'll be late. We must go.
(Vanderlip half starts to go with her toward door.)