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.