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.
ANNA. I—never! I——!
CHLOE. To spy! You're a fool, too. What is there to spy on?
ANNA. Nothing, ma'am. Of course, if you're not satisfied with me, I must give notice. Only—if I were spying, I should expect to have notice given me. I've been accustomed to ladies who wouldn't stand such a thing for a minute.