Enter Polly l. d.
Polly (coming down wearily). Mercy, how tired I am! And no chance of rest for at least six hours (drops into chair c.). Dinners and balls may be fun for those who do the eating and dancing, but it’s death on us poor servants. I’m worked hard enough usually, in all conscience’ sake, but Miss Agnes has given me just the hardest day I’ve ever seen! (Imitates Agnes giving orders.) “Polly, is my bath ready?” “Polly, give me my dressing-gown.” “Polly, bring me my coffee.” “Now dress my hair, Polly.” “Get me my habit, Polly.” (Rises.) “While I’m in the park, Polly, sew the ribbons on my two dominos.” “Oh, and I’ll be too busy to-day to write acknowledgments for the bouquets, Polly, so you may write to Mr. Stevens and Mr. Van Tromp and Mr. Newbank, and any others that come, thanking them for their lovely flowers, which are now filling my room with sweetness!” From seven till eight it’s been nothing but “Polly, do this,” and “Polly, do that,” and “Where’s Polly?” And no one so much as said “Polly, want a cracker?” I haven’t had a chance to sit down since I got up. I even had to eat my dinner off the laundry tubs (mimics eating with pen and paper-cutter at desk) standing, because the caterers were everywhere, getting the dinner and ball supper ready. Miss Agnes says she’s all “worn out.” I wish she could try my work once in a while. How I should enjoy telling the rich and sought-after Miss Agnes Wortley to (mimicking) “button my shoes,” (sticks out foot) or (waves her hand) “fetch me my gloves!” I would give a month’s wages if I could only take her place just for to-night at the masked ball. (Speaking with excitement.) When she decided that she must have two dominos, so that she could change in the middle of the ball, I thought to myself: ‘What’s to prevent your slipping on the domino she isn’t wearing, and going downstairs?’ (Muses.) If I only dared! I could easily slip out before she wanted to change! (Pause.) No! I mustn’t even think of it or the temptation will be too great.
[Goes to fireplace, and sitting on rug pokes the fire.
Stuart appears b. d. and looks in.
Polly. It would be such fun! Think of being Miss Agnes for one evening and dancing with all her admirers! Oh, my! Supposing one should propose! Mr. Newbank! (Laughs.) Or Mr. Van Tromp! (Laughs again.) I’d know what I’d say to them! Mr. Stevens? I wonder if she cares for him.
Stuart. And how about Mr. Stuart?
Polly (springing up, flustered). Oh, Jiminy! Oh—I beg your pardon, Mr. Stuart, I was—I—
[Hesitates.
Stuart (laughing). Poking the fire, eh? Is this room free territory?
Polly. Yes, Mr. Stuart. It’s Miss Wortley’s boudoir, but she thought it would be a nice place for people to come when they were tired of dancing downstairs.