She.—Yes. No! Oh give me time! The day after. I get into my 'rickshaw here and meet Him at Peliti's. You ride.
He.—I'll go on to Peliti's, too. I think I want a drink. My world's knocked about my ears and the stars are falling. Who are those brutes howling in the Old Library?
She.—They're rehearsing the singing-quadrilles for the Fancy Ball. Can't you hear Mrs. Buzgago's voice? She has a solo. It's quite a new idea. Listen!
Mrs. Buzgago (in the Old Library, con. molt, exp.)
"See saw! Margery Daw!
Sold her bed to lie upon straw.
Wasn't she a silly slut
To sell her bed and lie upon dirt?"
Captain Congleton, I'm going to alter that to "flirt". It sounds better.
He.—No I've changed my mind about the drink. Good night, little lady. I shall see you to-morrow?
She.—Ye—es. Good-night, Guy. Don't be angry with me.
He.—Angry! You know I trust you absolutely. Goodnight and—God bless you!
[Three seconds later. Alone.] Hmm! I'd give something to discover whether there's another man at the back of all this.
