Barlow. I am; wouldn't miss it for the world. Do you know, really now, the chrysanthemum, in my opinion, is the most human-looking flower we have. The rose is too beautiful, too perfect, for me. The chrysanthemum, on the other hand—
Yardsley (interrupting). Looks so like a football-player's head it appeals to your sympathies? Well, perhaps you are right. I never thought of it in that light before, but—
Dorothy (smiling). Nor I; but now that you mention it, it does look that way, doesn't it?
Barlow (not wishing to disagree with Dorothy). Very much. Droll idea, though. Just like Bob, eh? Very, very droll. Bob's always dro—
Yardsley (interrupting). When I see a man walking down the avenue with a chrysanthemum in his button-hole, I always think of a wild Indian wearing a scalp for decorative purposes.
[Barlow and Dorothy laugh at this, and during their mirth Jennie enters with the portfolio. She hands it to Dorothy. Dorothy rests it on the arm of her chair, and, Barlow looking over one shoulder, she goes through it. Jennie in passing out throws another kiss to Yardsley.
Yardsley (under his breath, stamping his foot). Awgh!
Barlow. What say?
[Dorothy looks up, surprised.
Yardsley. I—I didn't say anything. My—ah—my shoe had a piece of—ah—