Mrs. D. Ignores me altogether. (sits, R.)
Alma. What’s this? A mirror, I declare! (arranges herself before the glass)
Sir H. My taste again.
Alma. The looking-glass?
Sir H. The image it enshrines. (bowing)
Alma. I understand you. Plain, but comfortable. (laughs and passes on; gradually gets round, and down, R.)
Dr. (aside to Mrs. Dozey) Frivolous creature. (goes up, R., and down, R.C.)
Mrs. D. Lovely diamonds!
Alma. (at easel) That’s a good picture. Who’s the artist?
Sir H. (following Alma) Nobody particular. A sort of second or third cousin of mine.