Lydia.
[Smiling.] How on earth can you think so? [Then she goes close and examines the cut for herself.] Lucky my hair curls, isn’t it? This horrid little mark will never show. Now poor sister Eliza—of course she is much prettier than me, Richard—but her hair’s straight as a poker, and do you know, whenever she tries to have curls, she invariably burns it!
[Richard, taking a turn about the room, during the last speech, has now brought up before the full-length portrait of Mrs. McCormorant that hangs upon the wall. Her pink satin and the diamond pendant about her substantial neck shine bright in the electric lamp beneath the portrait.
Richard.
Well, speaking of beauty—— [Confronted by the sight of the lamp, he touches the bulb gingerly.] Good gracious! Glass all round the lamp! How on earth would the smoke get out? And a string—oh, heavens——! [As he puts out the light.] What have I done?
Lydia.
[Helplessly, at his side.] Oh, Richard——!
Richard.
[Accidentally pulling the light on again.] How very strange!
Lydia.