Enter AGATHA, C.
AGATHA. (L.) So, Thwaites, the room appears quite ready?
THWAITES. (R.) Yes, Miss Agatha; without exaggeration I may venture to say, we are lit up.
AGATHA. My father has not returned?
THWAITES. No, Miss Agatha, he has not—since he left the house at two in the afternoon—I haven’t the slightest notion where he is gone.
AGATHA. Indeed! (laughing—sits, L. C.)
THWAITES. No—though I did my best to ascertain;—“Are you going far, sir?” says I. He stares, and he makes me no answer. “Shall you be long, sir?” says I. He stares again, and again he makes no answer. “Because sir,” says I, “there’s the party this evening!” “I know that, better than you do,” says he, “for I shall have to pay for it!”—just like him, Miss Agatha—ha, ha, ha!
AGATHA. (aside—vexed) Really, ’pa must have a regular footman; these tradespeople whom he engages as occasional waiters don’t understand subordination a bit.
THWAITES. I hope you admire the bokies, Miss Agatha; them camellias are quite the thing, I flatter myself;—all my taste—ha! ha! You’ll be called to-morrow the Lady of the Camellias!
AGATHA. Most offensive! (rises, and turns aside)