Hostess—No such thing, Maria. You look all right. Plain black is always very genteel. Nothing I like so well for evening, myself. Just keep your face to the wall as much as you can, and the worn places will never show. You can take my ecru lace scarf, if you wish, and that will cover most of the spots. I don't mean my new scarf—the one I got two years ago. It's a little torn, but it won't matter—for you. I think you will find it on the top shelf of the store-room closet on the third floor. If you put a chair on one of the trunks, you can easily reach it. Just wait a minute, till I get these gloves on; I want you to button them. I do hope I haven't forgotten anything. Baron von Gosheimer has promised to come. I have told everybody. It would be terrible if he should disappoint me.
Masculine Voice from Above—Sarah, where the devil have you put my shirts? Everything is upside down in my room, and I can't find them. I pulled every blessed thing out of the chiffonier and wardrobe, and they're not there!
Hostess—Oh, Henry! You must hurry—I'm going to use your room for the gentlemen's dressing-room, and it's time now for people to come. You must hurry.
Host (from above, just as front door opens, admitting Baron von Gosheimer and two women guests)—Where the devil are my shirts?
Hostess (unconscious of arrivals)—Under the bed in my room. Hurry!
(Host, in bath gown and slippers, dashes madly into wife's room, and dives under bed as women guests enter. Unable to escape, he crawls farther beneath bed. His feet remain visible. Women guests discover them.)
Guests (in chorus)—Burglars! burglars! Help! help!
(Baron von Gosheimer, ascending to the next floor, hears them and hastens to the rescue.)
Baron—Don't be alarmed, ladies. Has either of you a poker? No? That is to be deplored. (Catches Host by heels and drags him out. Tableau.)
Hostess (to Poor Relative, giving an extra tug at her gloves)—There, it's all burst out on the side! That stupid saleslady said she knew they would be too small. Oh, dear, I'm that upset! And these Louis Quinze slippers are just murdering me. I wish it were all over.