ANNA. Was I, ma'am?
CHLOE. You know you were. [Fiercely] Are you paid to smile at me?
ANNA. [Immovable] No, ma'am, Would you like some eau de Cologne on your forehead?
CHLOE. Yes.—No.—What's the good? [Clasping her forehead] My headache won't go.
ANNA. To keep lying down's the best thing for it.
CHLOE. I have been—hours.
ANNA. [With the smile] Yes, ma'am.
CHLOE. [Gathering herself up on the sofa] Anna! Why do you do it?
ANNA. Do what, ma'am?
CHLOE. Spy on me.