St. Y. Poor little girl—they do work you awfully hard! I'll go (sentimentally), but I shall keep these post-cards always!
Miss Redtape (reading a telegram). Chipperfield Lodge, Chipperfield, near Uxbridge. Can't send that, Sir.
Author of Message. Can't send it? Nonsense! Why?
Miss R. (who suffers from a fixed idea; with deliberate precision). Because it is insufficiently addressed.
A. of M. (much astonished). Where on earth is the insufficiency?
Miss R. "Near Uxbridge"—you must alter that before I can send it.
A. of M. That's the address I was given; I've no reason to believe it wants adding to, and I can't add anything!
Miss R. Then I can't send it.
[A. of M. remonstrates in vain, pleads, and urges—Miss Rutina remains obdurate, and he has to retire, helpless.
Miss Minks (gabbling out form handed in by anxious-looking Lady). "For love of Heaven do nothing of kind. Come to me at once, Tiny"—you want that to go as it is?