[Brooks, watching Benson, is inattentive.
Brooks. Yes, m'lady.
Vida. [Calm, but wearied by the ignorance of the lower classes.] And I regret to inform you, Brooks, that in America there are no ladies, except salesladies!
Brooks. [Without a trace of comprehension.] Yes, m'lady.
Vida. I am at home to no one but the two names I have mentioned. [Brooks bows and exits. She dabs on rouge while Benson holds glass.] Is the men's club-room in order?
Benson. Perfectly, ma'am.
Vida. Whiskey and soda?
Benson. Yes, ma'am, and the ticker's been mended. The British sporting papers arrived this morning.
Vida. [Looking at her watch which lies on the dressing-table.] My watch has stopped.
Benson. [Glancing at the French clock on the chimney-piece.] Five to eleven, ma'am.