Mrs. F. Oh dear, no, the ladies. How absurd!
Mr. G. That’s only a little joke of Powers’. (Gives P. a warning look.) It is a most commendable thing—
Mrs. F. Apparently the day is past when a jest has any relation to a witticism.
Mr. G. No, no, you will have your joke too, Mrs. Fadd. I mean the hospital.
Mrs. F. Infirmary, Mr. Greathead! One is expected to do something and there are so many causes worthy of help. I hesitated between the Humane Society and the Infirmary for Superannuated Lap-dogs. Then I thought I’d better limit myself.
Mr. G. By the way, Mrs. Fadd, I hope you won’t let anything interfere with your contract with Greathead & Wright. Two novels per month, you know, is the agreement.
Mrs. F. Pshaw! I could make it four, I really believe, I write so very easily.
Mr. G. By the way, Mr. Powers, that reminds me that we ought to have Mrs. Fadd interviewed again. She hasn’t been interviewed for nearly a month. Suppose we do it now and send slips to the papers at once.
P. Miss Bodman is not here.