LESBIA. Good morning, dear big sister.
MRS BRIDGENORTH. Good morning, dear little sister. [They kiss].
LESBIA. Good morning, Collins. How well you are looking! And how
young! [She turns the middle chair away from the table and sits
down].
COLLINS. Thats only my professional habit at a wedding, Miss. You
should see me at a political dinner. I look nigh seventy.
[Looking at his watch] Time's getting along, maam. May I send up
word from you to Miss Edith to hurry a bit with her dressing?
MRS BRIDGENORTH. Do, Collins.
Collins goes out through the tower, taking the cake with him.
LESBIA. Dear old Collins! Has he told you any stories this
morning?
MRS BRIDGENORTH. Yes. You were just late for a particularly
thrilling invention of his.
LESBIA. About Mrs George?
MRS BRIDGENORTH. Yes. He says she's a clairvoyant.
LESBIA. I wonder whether he really invented George, or stole her
out of some book.
MRS BRIDGENORTH. I wonder!
LESBIA. Wheres the Barmecide?
MRS BRIDGENORTH. In the study, working away at his new book. He
thinks no more now of having a daughter married than of having an
egg for breakfast.
The General, soothed by smoking, comes in from the garden.
THE GENERAL [with resolute bonhomie] Ah, Lesbia!
MRS BRIDGENORTH.
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