Polly. Yes, sir.
[Exit Polly l. d.
Stuart. It’s better to be born lucky than rich. (Pats domino tenderly, and arranges it neatly in chair c.) You’re luckier, though, for you belong to the dearest and most heartless woman in this world. (Looks at mask.) And you! She doesn’t need you to mask her feelings, confound and bless her inscrutable face! You’ll be pressing against it ere long. (Kisses mask.) Take that to her.
Mrs. V. T. (outside). No, I sent Polly for my domino, but she hasn’t brought it.
Stuart. Speaking of angels— And she mustn’t discover that I know.
[Hurriedly seizes mask and domino and tosses them behind curtains of bay window; then strikes match as if about to light cigar.
Mrs. Van Tromp appears at b. d. and looks in.
Mrs. V. T. Shall it be a cigar or my society? “Under which king, Bezonian? Speak or die.”
Stuart (throwing match in fire). That goes without saying. The cigar is my slave; I am Mrs. Van Tromp’s!
Mrs. V. T. Was that impromptu?