Susan. Yes, Miss Blake.
Alma. I’ll do my hair myself. Don’t mention any name—Mr. Dick’s given her my part to play, and she mightn’t care to see me. Say that the lady on the first floor wants to speak to her on business connected with the theatre.
Susan. Yes, Miss Blake. (crosses at back to L.C.)
Alma. Bring her down with you.
Susan. If she’ll come, I will.
Alma. (turns) Bring her down with you, whether she’ll come or not, or take a month’s warning. (Susan laughs) What are you laughing at?
Susan. That’s the third time to-day you’ve given me warning.
Alma. (lifting hair-brush) I’ll give you something else, if you’re not quick. (Exit Susan, L.C.) I feel quite curious to see this girl Dick thinks is good enough to play my part. Some greenhorn at a pound or two a week, or Dick wouldn’t have engaged her. No, she can’t be a greenhorn. She doesn’t eat: greenhorns do. And what did Susan say? She’s always crying. Humph! She must be married. The old tale, I suppose. And yet people go on getting married. (rises; looks for puff) It’s a funny world. What has that Susan done with the powder-puff? Hang the girl! I’ll give her warning again as soon as she comes down. If I had a husband, I believe I should give him warning to-day. Brutes, all of ’em. (Exit, R.C.)
Susan. (outside) Mind how you turn the corner, they’re such awkward stairs, and it’s so dark up here. This is the way. Take a seat, please.
Re-enter Susan, L.C., followed by Lucy.