Cynthia. I think you seem a little more tired than usual.
Philip. Perhaps I am. [She pours out sherry. Philip takes glass but does not sip.] Ah, this hour is truly a grateful form of restful excitement. [After an inspired interval.] You, too, find it—eh? [He looks at Cynthia.
Cynthia. [With veiled sarcasm.] Decidedly.
Philip. Decidedly what, my dear?
Cynthia. [Her sarcasm still veiled.] Restful.
Philip. H'm! Perhaps I need the calm more than you do. Over the case to-day I actually—eh— [Sipping his tea.] slumbered. I heard myself do it. That's how I know. A dressmaker sued on seven counts. [Reading his newspaper.] Really, the insanity of the United States Senate—you seem restless, my dear. Ah—um—have you seen the evening paper? I see there has been a lightning change in the style or size of hats which ladies—
[Sweeping a descriptive motion with his hand, he gives the paper to Cynthia, then moves his glass, reads, and sips.
Cynthia. The lamp, Thomas.
Thomas blows out the alcohol lamp on the tea-table with difficulty. Blows twice. Movement of Philip each time. Blows again.
Philip. [Irritably.] Confound it, Thomas! What are you puffing and blowing at—?