As the chatter dies down a chord is struck on the piano.
The Bishop of Sploshington (£2 10s. a week). Charming. Quite one of my favourites. Do play it again. [Relapses into silence for the rest of the evening.
The Duchess of Southbridge (35s. per week, to Lord Reggie). Oh, Reggie, what did you say?
Lord Reggie (putting up his eyeglass—they get five shillings a week extra if they can manage an eyeglass properly). Said I'd bally well—top-hole—what?—don'cherknow.
Lady Evangeline (to Lady Violet, as they walk across the stage). Oh, I must tell you what that funny Mr. Danby said. [Doesn't. Lady Violet, none the less, trills with happy laughter.
Prince von Ichdien, the well-known Ambassador (loudly, to an unnamed gentleman). What your country ought to do——[He finishes his remarks in the lip-language, which the unnamed gentleman seems to understand. At any rate he nods several times.
There is more girlish laughter, more buzz and more deaf-and-dumb language. Then
Lord Tuppeny. Well, what about auction?
Amid murmurs of "You'll play, Field-Marshal?" and "Auction, Archbishop?" the crowd drifts off, leaving the hero and heroine alone in the middle of the stage.
And then you can begin.