MABEL. Fie, Joanna. Surely a wife's natural delicacy . . .

PURDIE (severely). As you take it in that spirit, Joanna, I can
proceed with a clear conscience. If the dog-like devotion of a
lifetime--(He reels a little, staring at LOB, over whose face the
leer has been wandering like an insect.)

MABEL. Did he move?

PURDIE. It isn't that. I am feeling--very funny. Did one of you tap me
just now on the forehead?

(Their hands also have gone to their foreheads.)

MABEL. I think I have been in this room before.

PURDIE (flinching). There is something coming rushing back to me.

MABEL. I seem to know that coffee set. If I do, the lid of the milk
jug is chipped. It is!

JOANNA. I can't remember this man's name; but I am sure it begins with L.

MABEL. Lob.

PURDIE. Lob.

JOANNA. Lob.