POLLITT.

Contrive--?

SOPHY.

[_Fondly._] You old stupid! whenever Muriel is coming to be manicured
she sends Captain Bastling a warning overnight; [_squeezing_ POLLITT'S
_arm, roguishly_] this kind of thing--"My heart is heavy and my nails
are long. To-morrow--three-thirty." Ha, ha, ha!

POLLITT.

Dearest, let me advise you--

SOPHY.

[_Her hand upon his lips._] Ah, don't lecture! [BASTLING _saunters
forward to attract_ SOPHY'S _attention._] Oh--! [_To_ POLLITT,
_hurriedly._] Go now. Pop in again by-and-by. [_Caressingly._] Um-m-m!
my love!

[POLLITT _goes out by the window._

SOPHY.

[_Joining_ BASTLING--_formally._] Good day, Captain Bastling.

BASTLING.