Miss C. L. (with superiority). Oh, I never have any appetite for dinner. I loathe the very sight of food, somehow! But I do wish you'd eat something—it's so piggish of you not to—really it is! You must take just this weeny little one—to please Me! (She places it on his plate.) Now you can't say no!
Mr. Forr. (to himself). She is the dearest darling! (Aloud.) I'd do anything in the world to please you, Camille! (To himself.) After all, there's still twopence!
Miss C. L. Good boy! (As he eats.) Well, is it a success?
Mr. Forr. (munching). It isn't bad—got Marchpane, or something of the kind on it.
Miss C. L. How nice! I adore Marchpane! You may go and get me one just like it, if you're very good.
Mr. Forr. (to himself, as he obeys her behest). That cleans me out! Thank goodness, no gratuities are allowed here, or else—and this must be the last—she's had three already! If I'd only had another sixpence, I shouldn't care, but this is running it devilish close! (Aloud, as he returns.) This is the nearest I could get.
Miss C. L. Thanks, ever so much. Awfully nice tea this is. (Suggestively.) They might give one bigger cups, though!
Mr. Forr. (to himself, with pathos). I'd give my life for her, cheerfully—and I've got to deny her a second cup of tea! But hang it, I must. I can't ask her to lend me fourpence to pay the bill! (Aloud.) It's—er—just as well they don't. My sisters have sworn off afternoon tea altogether; some medical Johnny told them it—er—had a tendency to make the nose red!
Miss C. L. (to herself). Fred's sisters! Very likely! (Aloud, coldly.) If you think there is any danger of that in my case, of course I won't risk another cup.
Mr. Forr. Oh—er—well, you never know, don't you know. I—er—wouldn't. (To himself.) Narrow shave that, by Jove!