Barlow.
It appears that my advice is not wanted, and I promised to look in on dear Lady Hollington before dinner.
Penelope.
Do telephone to her that you can’t come. You’ll find a telephone in my sitting-room.
Barlow.
[Shrugging his shoulders.] I’m too indulgent. People don’t rate me at my proper value.
[He goes out.
Penelope.
Papa, say you’ll get Dickie back for me. I want him. I want him.
Golightly.