Minnie. Pride? You’re all pride. I do believe if the house were on fire, and you cut off in a top room, you’d decline the fire-escape unless you were dressed in the latest Paris fashion. (Goes up to window.)
Aunt. Well, upon my word, dear, you are not very polite. I must say that I am very sorry that you should be disappointed about your dance, but I don’t believe you’d have cared so very much if you hadn’t known you were wearing a particularly pretty frock.
Minnie. It isn’t that at all.
Aunt. But it is—a very pretty frock. And it suits you quite wonderfully.
Minnie. Does it, Auntie? (Coming to Aunt.) What I meant was I go for the dancing—principally. I do love dancing. Auntie, don’t you think you could manage? (Kisses her. Front door heard to slam.) Ah, that must be Horace.
(Enter Horace R. in fur coat. Minnie runs to him and kisses him. Horace puts copy of “The Astronomer” on table.)
Minnie. Oh, Horace!
Horace. Beastly cold. (Goes to fire.)
Minnie. Horace, I’m so glad you’re here. We’ve been waiting such a time.
Horace. Waiting? What for?