Mrs. C. And what are you going to have done?
Dickie. I’m going to be bleached!
Mrs. C. What color?
Dickie. Why, blonde, of course.
Mrs. C. Well, if I had that head of hair I wouldn’t bleach it for the world. What lovely hair, and Mr. Compton does so admire hair.
Dickie. (Coquettishly.) They all do. (Susan getting bottles and brushes.)
Susan. Are you ready, Miss Bird?
Dickie. Quite ready.
Mrs. C. (Going D. F.) Bird! That must be Dickie Bird. Giddy thing! She’s the worst flirt in town. Oh dear, I could eat a raw frog! (Exit D. F. Noise of pulleys going furiously.)
Dickie. What is that fat old thing doing here?