Dor. In a second. Thought perhaps Cook would give me a light. (takes out cigar case)
Lucy. Very well, we'll go on. You can catch us up. You needn't hurry. (she goes out door R.)
Dor. (holding cigar) May I?
Car. There's a box of matches on the dresser. (Dorvaston crosses to dresser for matches, lights his cigar. She washes glass and silver)
Dor. (crosses to top of table) This is a devilish snug kitchen. D'you know, I'd much rather stop here—and watch you doing—whatever you are doing—what are you doing?
Car. Washing up. (washing glasses)
Dor. Are you, by George? Washing up, now. How is that generally done? (at top of table)
Car. With water and a tea-cloth.
Dor. It must be an awful fag. When it comes to work, seems to me you women beat us hollow.