Enter Rosa Lightfoot, R. 1.
Rosa. (Has not seen them, goes to letter case.) A letter for me! A strange hand! (Reads.) Why, it’s from that Mr. Blake. Thanks me for my kindness! Dear fellow. Hopes I may not think him bold. (Laughs.) Such audacity! He is bold, but I like him for it. And wants to meet me here. Oh goodness! That will never do. (Looks at note.) Tuesday at nine. Hopes I’ll be alone. Why, he may come any minute. How indiscreet of him. He must love me desperately. (Rings.) Whatever shall I do.
Enter Mary, L.
Rosa. Mary, I expect a person here on business—important business. Is the committee room unoccupied at this hour?
Mary. Yes, Miss, that is, unless Birdie Robbins should come in. She goes round at all hours.
Rosa. (Soliloquy.) Why didn’t she go into literature? She has no tact for politics.
Mary. No, Miss Lightfoot, she hasn’t a spoonful of tact.
Rosa. Ah, Mary, you needn’t notice everything. If she or anyone else drops in just say the committee room is in use, will you?
Mary. Yes, Miss. (Exit L.)
Rosa. How my heart flutters. I’ve read that in the old times women’s hearts were always fluttering. That is a weakness that comes from centuries of degenerate training, but the new woman will master it yet. The men manage better. Their great solid chests are as impassive as statues. We can be nonchalant, too. I’ll coolly light a cigar. (Feels pocket.) Goodness, I gave the last one to Inspector Lillie Evergreen. (Sound of footsteps, R.) Goodness, there he comes now. (Listens.) He’s saying good day to some one at the door. Oh, horrors! that’s Birdie Robbins’s voice. What shall I do? (Darts behind screen L.)