THE PRINCESS. Oh, thank you so much. [She goes to the door.
Ermyntrude, noticing that she has left her hat and gloves on the
table, runs after her with them.] Oh, THANK you. And oh, please,
if I must have one of his sons, I should like a fair one that
doesn't shave, with soft hair and a beard. I couldn't bear being
kissed by a bristly person. [She runs out, the Manager bowing as
she passes. He follows her.]

Ermyntrude whips off her waterproof; hides it; and gets herself
swiftly into perfect trim at the mirror, before the Manager, with
a large jewel case in his hand, returns, ushering in the Inca.

THE MANAGER. Captain Duval.

The Inca, in military uniform, advances with a marked and
imposing stage walk; stops; orders the trembling Manager by a
gesture to place the jewel case on the table; dismisses him with
a frown; touches his helmet graciously to Ermyntrude; and takes
off his cloak.

THE INCA. I beg you, madam, to be quite at your ease, and to
speak to me without ceremony.

ERMYNTRUDE [moving haughtily and carelessly to the table]. I
hadn't the slightest intention of treating you with ceremony.
[She sits down: a liberty which gives him a perceptible shock.] I
am quite at a loss to imagine why I should treat a perfect
stranger named Duval: a captain! almost a subaltern! with the
smallest ceremony.