Helen. Oh! Amy, why that significant pause? We all know how them spells his name.
Rose (springing to her feet with a scream). Girls! Girls!!
Amy (startled). What’s the matter?
Rose (melodramatically). My Lords! My Lords! There are traitors in the camp and treachery stalks rampant.
[Comes to centre with blotter.
Helen. Oh, come off that roof!
Rose. No, really, I’m in dead earnest.
Amy. What is it, Rose?
Rose (evidently reading with difficulty from blotter). Listen. “Dear Frank,—We hear you are to come up here on Tuesday. Now, if you want a soft thing, pay heed to what I write—” Oh, I can’t read it backwards. Where is a mirror?
Helen (rushing to mantel). Here, Here.