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ROOPE.
Ah, yes; I'm to be in Lady Freddy Hoyle's Plantagenet group. I'm a knight in attendance on King John.
GREEN.
I had a short private chat with the Baroness, and followed her into the drawing-room. They were still at it when I sneaked out at a side door, and heah I am.
ROOPE.
Extraordinary! Hey, Phil?
PHILIP.
[_Leaning against the chair by the writing-table, dryly._] Most interesting.
GREEN.
[_To_ PHILIP, _rising._] I lunch with Roope--[_to_ ROOPE] you'll have to let me off at three, Robbie--and then my grind begins again.
ROOPE.
[_Throwing up his hands in admiration._] Oh!
GREEN.
Horse Show, two musical parties--Lady G.o.dalming's and Mrs. Reggie Mosenstein's; then home and more dictation to my secretary. Dine with Sir Patrick and Lady Logan at the Carlton, and then to the Opera with my spy-gla.s.s. From Covent Garden I dash down to Fleet Street, write my late stuff, and my day's done--unless I've strength left for Lady Ronaldshaw's dance and a crush at Mrs. Hume-Cutler's.
ROOPE.
[_Repeating his former action._] Oh! Oh!
[NOYES _reappears._
NOYES.
Mrs. Walter Quebec.
[MRS. WALTER QUEBEC _enters and_ NOYES _withdraws._
ROOPE.
[_Taking_ MRS. QUEBEC's _hand._] My dear Mrs. Wally, how _are_ you?
MRS. QUEBEC.
[_A bright, energetic, fairly young lady._] How'r you, Robbie? Walter is so grieved; he's lunching at the Auto with Tony Baxter. He did try to wriggle out of it--[_Discovering_ GREEN _and going to him with her hand extended._] Oh, I _am_ glad! You're just the man I'm dying to see.
GREEN.
[_Kissing her hand._] Haw----!
MRS. QUEBEC.
Lady Skewes and I are getting up a concert in aid of the poor sufferers from the earthquake in--what's the name of the place?--I forget--Lady Skewes knows it--and we want you to say a lot about us in your darling paper. Only distinguished amateurs; that's where the novelty comes in.
Lady Skewes is going to play the violin, if she can pull herself together--she hasn't played for centuries--[_seeing_ PHILIP, _advancing, and shaking hands with him casually_] how d'ye do?--[_to_ GREEN] and _I've_ promised to sing.
GREEN.
Splendid.
ROOPE.
But how captivating!
MRS. QUEBEC.
[_To_ GREEN.] I've sung so seldom since my marriage, and they've had _such_ a difficulty to lure me out of my tiny wee sh.e.l.l. Would you mind dwelling on that a little?
GREEN.
Of course not; anything I can do, deah lady----
MRS. QUEBEC.
That's too utterly sweet of you. You shall have full particulars to-morrow. I wouldn't bother you, but it's charity, isn't it? Oh, and there's something else I want you to be kind over----!
[NOYES _returns._
NOYES.
Mrs. G.o.dfrey Anslow.
[_The_ HON. MRS. G.o.dFREY ANSLOW _enters and_ NOYES _goes out again._
MRS. ANSLOW.
[_A tall, languishing woman with a toneless drawl--to_ ROOPE.] Am I late?
ROOPE.
[_Pressing her hand._] Not a second, my _very_ dear friend.
MRS. ANSLOW.
Can't help it if I am. My car got smashed up last week in Roehampton Lane, and the motor people have lent me the original ark, on wheels.
[MRS. QUEBEC _comes to her._] Hullo, Esme!
MRS. QUEBEC.
