Alan. How are you, Mrs. Travers? So sweet of you to ask me! Isn't it a dear day!
[Greetings.
Mr. Averidge. And how did the infant prodigy manage to get here all alone?
Alan. I pushed myself in a perambulator. Miss Vane, you look like a Botticelli in a Paris dress. I didn't bring my harp, does it matter?
[Chorus of sham disappointment and real relief.
Alan (smiling). It was dreadful of me! But I have been keeping the poor thing up so late; I thought a rest——
[Lunch is announced. Muriel stoops to collect Viola's handkerchief, &c.
Alan (to Viola). Oh, what a sweet scarlet parasol!
Curtain. End of Scene 1.
(To be continued.)