Phoebe. (Shakes her head.) No; it’s all right. I have seen her. Let her know we are here the moment she comes in.
Hake. Yes, miss.
(He has finished the arrangements. The table has been placed in the centre of the room, six chairs round it, one of them being a large armchair. He has placed writing materials and a large silver gravy spoon. He is going.)
Phoebe. Why aren’t you sure your wife wasn’t at the meeting last night? Didn’t she say anything?
Hake. Well, miss, unfortunately, just as she was starting, Mrs. Comerford—that’s the wife of the party that keeps the shop downstairs—looked in with an order for the theatre.
Phoebe. Oh!
Hake. So I thought it best to ask no questions.
Phoebe. Thank you.
Hake. Thank you, miss.
(He goes out.)