Miss P. How absolutely magical those palaces look in the moonlight! BOB, how can you yawn like that?
Bob. I beg your pardon, 'PATIA, really, but we've had rather a long day of it, you know!
Mr. T. Well, now, I declare I sort of recognised those voices! (Heartily.) Why, how are you getting along in Vernis? We're gettin' along fust-rate. Say, MAUD, here's your friend alongside!
[Miss P. preserves a stony silence.
Miss T. (in an undertone). I don't see how you can act so, Poppa—when you know she's just as mad with me!
Mr. T. There! Electrocuted if I didn't clean forget you were out! But, see here, now—why cann't we let bygones be bygones?
Bob. (impulsively). Just what I think, Mr. TROTTER, and I'm sure my sister will—
Miss P. BOB, will you kindly not make the situation more awkward than it is? If I desired a reconciliation, I think I am quite capable of saying so!
Miss T. (in confidence to the Moon). This Ark isn't proposing to send out any old dove, either—we've no use for an olive-branch. (To Mr. T.) That's "Santa Lucia" they're singing now, Poppa.
Mr. T. They don't appear to me to get the twist on it they did at Bellagio!