Lydia.
[Mischievously.] There, sir! Is it only your bride who can’t hear?
[With a sleepy gesture, Sanford brushes away the trumpet, which falls to the ground.
Sanford.
[With a yawn.] Ah, never mind. Too much work—pick it up.
Lydia.
[Slipping around in front of him.] Come, Richard!
Richard.
[Joining her somewhat hesitantly and taking her outstretched hands.] Is it quite safe, do you think?
Lydia.