FANNY [cutting him short]. Yes. So nice of you to call.
NEWTE. I said to myself—[His eye catches Bennet; he stops.] Ah, thanks. [He gives Bennet his hat and stick, but Bennet does not seem satisfied. He has taken from the table a small china tray. This he is holding out to Newte, evidently for Newte to put something in it. But what? Newte is puzzled, he glances at Fanny. The idea strikes him that perhaps it is a tip Bennet is waiting for. It seems odd, but if it be the custom—he puts his hand to his trousers pocket.]
BENNET. The smoking-room is on the ground-floor.
NEWTE. Ah, my cigar. I beg your pardon. I couldn’t understand. [He puts it on the tray—breaks into a laugh.]
BENNET. Thank you. Her ladyship is suffering from a headache. If I might suggest—a little less boisterousness. [He goes out.]
NEWTE [he watches him out]. I say, your Lord Chamberlain’s a bit of a freezer!
FANNY. Yes. Wants hanging out in the sun. How did you manage to get here so early? [She sits.]
NEWTE. Well, your telegram rather upset me. I thought—correct etiquette for me to sit down here, do you think?
FANNY. Don’t ask me. Got enough new tricks of my own to learn. [Laughs.] Should chance it, if I were you.
NEWTE. Such a long time since I was at Court. [He sits.] Yes, I was up at five o’clock this morning.