“For heaven's sake! Are we rehearsing, or is this a debating society? Miss Hobson, nothing is going to be written into anybody's part. Now are you satisfied?”
“She said...”
“Oh, never mind,” observed Miss Winch, equably. “It was only a random thought. Working for the good of the show all the time. That's me.”
“Now, sweetie!” pleaded Mr. Cracknell, emerging from the collar like a tortoise.
Miss Hobson reluctantly allowed herself to be reassured.
“Oh, well, that's all right, then. But don't forget I know how to look after myself,” she said, stating a fact which was abundantly obvious to all who had had the privilege of listening to her. “Any raw work, and out I walk so quick it'll make you giddy.”
She retired, followed by Mr. Cracknell, and the wings swallowed her up.
“Shall I say my big speech now?” inquired Miss Winch, over the footlights.
“Yes, yes! Get on with the rehearsal. We've wasted half the morning.”
“Did you ring, madam?” said Miss Winch to Elsa, who had been reading her magazine placidly through the late scene.