Barlow. Oh, say lint, and be done with it.
Yardsley (relieved, and thankful for the suggestion). Why, how did you know? It did, you know. Had a piece of lint on it, and I tried to get it off by stamping, that’s all.
Dorothy. Ah, here it is.
Yardsley. What? The lint?
Barlow. Ho! Is the world nothing but lint to you? Of course not—the Gibson. Charming, isn’t it, Miss Dorothy?
Dorothy (holding the picture up). Fine. Just look at that girl. Isn’t she pretty?
Barlow. Very.
Dorothy. And such style, too.
Yardsley (looking over Dorothy’s other shoulder). Yes, very pretty, and lots of style. (Softly.) Very—like some one—some one I know.
Barlow (overhearing). I think so myself, Yardsley. It’s exactly like Josie Wilkins. By-the-way—ah—how is that little affair coming along, Bob?