[He has taken from his breast-pocket one of those street toy-men that jump head over heels on your hand; he puts it through its paces.]
LADY W. [Much interested] Oh! no, but how sweet! She'll simply love it.
POULDER. If I might suggest to Your Grace to take it in and operate it. It's sweated, Your Grace. They-er-make them in those places.
HIS G. By Jove! D'you know the price, Poulder?
POULDER. [Interrogatively] A penny, is it? Something paltry, Your Grace!
HIS G. Where's that woman who knows everything; Miss Munday?
LADY W. Oh! She'll be in there, somewhere.
[His GRACE moves on, and passes through the doors. The sound of applause is heard.]
POULDER. [Discreetly] would you care to see the bomb, my lady?
LADY W. Of course—first quiet moment.