Miss Ivory [seated at right of table. Inkwell stands back of table—center]. Well, Mr. Inkwell, I hope we may yet succeed in claiming you as a friend—instead of coddling you as an enemy.
Inkwell. If you treat all your enemies so well—what must you do for your friends?
Miss Ivory. We abuse those we love.
Sud [nudging Wouldby—aside]. Quite epigrammatic, eh?
Inkwell. Even abuse at such fair hands could only please.
Sud [aside]. Did you catch the subtlety of that line?
Miss Ivory [nervously]. Wi—wi—will you have some more tea?
Inkwell [coming left of table—to be opposite her—catching her hand.] I don't want tea—I want you! I love you!
Sud. Wait a moment! That's too abrupt! I've some more lines here somewhere. [Looks through slips pinned in manuscript.] I cut some out of the beginning of the act. When the first curtain went up and the maid was discovered dusting the room I had the Irish butler make love to her. [To Wouldby.] [Handing Inkwell a paragraph.] There, Inkwell, are the love lines I was looking for. Proceed, please.
Miss Ivory. Shall I go back?