Mrs. Twitchell, nervously. Yes, indeed, she's tired to death. I'm very glad, I'm sure, if you liked it. Oh, how do you do, Mrs. Waite? Yes, here she is. Bessie, here is Mrs. Waite. You see she sat in the Opera House since five o'clock to be made up, and only sandwiches and all the strain—yes, indeed. Fanny looked very pretty, I thought. In the dance, wasn't she? Yes, so pretty. I'm sure I wish Bessie had only been in the dance—Oh, here's the carriage, dear!
¶ Malvolio and Viola, slipping quietly past the crowd; make-up not off; arms on each other's shoulders.
Malvolio. I suppose Dad's holding that carriage somewhere.
Viola. Well, I can't help it. I simply can't talk to everybody.
Malvolio. Do you know your speech?
Viola. I think so. It's so short, you know. I hate to have the president's speech long. (A pause.)
Malvolio. Well, it's over, Susy Revere! No more glory for little Lide and Sue!
Viola. All over! Well, we've had the time of our lives, Dick! I'd—I'd give anything to do it over again, three nights!
Malvolio. Me too. It's a pleasant little spot up here. (They walk to the campus in silence.)
¶ Recent court lady and two young gentlemen, brothers of her friend, the stage manager. Her eyes are underlined heavily, and she has not gotten the rouge quite off her cheeks.