Mrs. Roberts: “I admit nothing of the kind. And we’ve invited another young couple who haven’t gone to housekeeping yet—the Curwens. And he has the same foible as Mrs. Miller.” Mrs. Roberts takes out her handkerchief, and laughs into it.
Lawton: “That is, if Mrs. Miller has it, which we both deny. Let us hope that Mrs. Miller and Mr. Curwen may not get to making eyes at each other.”
Roberts: “And Mr. Bemis and his son complete the list. Why, Agnes, there are only ten. You said there were twelve.”
Mrs. Roberts: “Well, never mind. I meant ten. I forgot that the Somerses declined.” A ring is heard. “Ah! that’s Aunt Mary.” She runs into the vestibule, and is heard exclaiming without: “Why, Mrs. Miller, is it you? I thought it was my aunt. Where is Mr. Miller?”
Mrs. Miller, entering the drawing-room arm in arm with her hostess: “Oh, he’ll be here directly. I had to let him run back for my fan.”
Mrs. Roberts: “Well, we’re very glad to have you to begin with. Let me introduce Dr. Lawton.”
Mrs. Miller, in a polite murmur: “Dr. Lawton.” In a louder tone: “O Mr. Roberts!”
Lawton: “You see, Roberts? The same aggrieved surprise at meeting you here that I felt.”
Mrs. Miller: “What in the world do you mean?”
Lawton: “Don’t you think that when a husband is present at his wife’s dinner party he repeats the mortifying superfluity of a bridegroom at a wedding?”