THE PRINCESS [terrified]. Oh please! It doesn't matter.

THE WAITER. It has not been waiting. Straight from the kitchen,
madam, believe me.

ERMYNTRUDE. Send the manager here.

THE WAITER. The manager! What do you want with the manager?

ERMYNTRUDE. He will tell you when I have done with him. How dare
you treat Her Highness in this disgraceful manner? What sort of
pothouse is this? Where did you learn to speak to persons of
quality? Take away your cold tea and cold cake instantly. Give
them to the chambermaid you were flirting with whilst Her
Highness was waiting. Order some fresh tea at once; and do not
presume to bring it yourself: have it brought by a civil waiter
who is accustomed to wait on ladies, and not, like you, on
commercial travellers.

THE WAITER. Alas, madam, I am not accustomed to wait on anybody.
Two years ago I was an eminent medical man, my waiting-room was
crowded with the flower of the aristocracy and the higher
bourgeoisie from nine to six every day. But the war came; and my
patients were ordered to give up their luxuries. They gave up
their doctors, but kept their week-end hotels, closing every
career to me except the career of a waiter. [He puts his fingers
on the teapot to test its temperature, and automatically takes
out his watch with the other hand as if to count the teapot's
pulse.] You are right: the tea is cold: it was made by the wife
of a once fashionable architect. The cake is only half toasted: