guest-chamber--you ARE rather cramped in flats, that's true; that's
the worst of them--but if you don't mind having your toilet made in
public, like the King of France--'

BEMIS, entering into the spirit of it: 'Not the least; but--' He
laughs, and drops back into his chair.

MRS. ROBERTS, distributing the brush to young Mr. Bemis, and the tie
to his wife, and dropping upon her knees before Mr. Bemis: 'Now,
Mrs. Lou, you just whip off that crumpled tie and whip on the fresh
one, and, MISTER Lou, you give his hair a touch, and I'll have this
torn button-hole mended before you can think.' She seizes it and
begins to sew vigorously upon it.

MRS. CRASHAW: 'Agnes, you are the most ridiculously sensible woman
in the country.'

LAWTON, standing before the group, with his arms folded and his feet
well apart, in an attitude of easy admiration: 'The Wounded Adonis,
attended by the Loves and Graces. Familiar Pompeiian fresco.'

MRS. ROBERTS, looking around at him: 'I don't see a great many
Loves.'

LAWTON: 'She ignores us, Mrs. Crashaw. And after what you've just
said!'

MRS. ROBERTS: 'Then why don't you do something?'

LAWTON: 'The Loves NEVER do anything--in frescoes. They stand