O’Donnell.
Shall I ring?
George Winter.
I told the waiter on my way up. Here they are. [A couple of waiters come in with glasses and bottles of champagne.] No teetotalism to-night, Mr. Swalecliffe. By Jove, I’m thirsty. Pour it out. Pour it out.
Swalecliffe.
I never touch alcohol, Mr. Winter.
George Winter.
Poor is the heart that never rejoices. Have you all got glasses, gentlemen? Come on, Lady Francis. Don’t be backward, Anne.
Anne.
Yes, please.