MARGARET. There are more of the chosen in Court every day. Mr Graviter, have you noticed the two on the jury?
GRAVITER. [With a smile] No; I can't say—
MARGARET. Oh! but quite distinctly. Don't you think they ought to have been challenged?
GRAVITER. De Levis might have challenged the other ten, Miss Orme.
MARGARET. Dear me, now! I never thought of that.
As she speaks, the door Left Forward is opened and old MR JACOB TWISDEN comes in. He is tallish and narrow, sixty-eight years old, grey, with narrow little whiskers curling round his narrow ears, and a narrow bow-ribbon curling round his collar. He wears a long, narrow-tailed coat, and strapped trousers on his narrow legs. His nose and face are narrow, shrewd, and kindly. He has a way of narrowing his shrewd and kindly eyes. His nose is seen to twitch and snig.
TWISDEN. Ah! How are you, Charles? How do you do, my dear?
MARGARET. Dear Mr Jacob, I'm smoking. Isn't it disgusting? But they don't allow it in Court, you know. Such a pity! The Judge might have a hookah. Oh! wouldn't he look sweet—the darling!
TWISDEN. [With a little, old-fashioned bow] It does not become everybody as it becomes you, Margaret.
MARGARET. Mr Jacob, how charming! [With a slight grimace she puts out her cigarette].