SIR F. Like a horse-leech. My wife will be here directly!
ARTH. But Uncle Cosey?
SIR F. Comfortably tucked in there (pointing to couch), to be roused from the land of dreams when the proper time arrives with this implement (taking a long feather brush). Sure you’ve got your part in this little domestic drama by heart? Rehearse!
ARTH. “Loveliest of women,” “emotions,” “agony,” “Seringapatam,” “despair,” “Pegwell Bay”—
SIR F. Keep on going over it, like the multiplication-table; but hang it, man, don’t look as lively as if you were waiting in a dentist’s back parlor! (Suddenly.) Here comes my wife! (hurriedly hiding behind curtains).
Enter LADY FRITTERLY at L. H., carrying a smoking-cap.
LADY F. (seeing VALLANCE). Mr. Vallance?
ARTH. Lady Fritterly! (bowing).
LADY F. (aside). The ball is about to open! (Aloud.) Won’t you be seated? (seating herself at L., ARTHUR moving a chair to some distance from LADY F., and seating himself). A lovely morning, is it not? (beginning to work at the smoking-cap).
ARTH. Delicious!