STEVEN. I'm sure I will.

LOUISE. But will we have enough money to hold our own?

STEVEN. I'll do my best. Louise, I appreciate your not making more of a row!

[_With his arm around her._

LOUISE. Oh, Steve, I know it's just as hard for you--and I do love you and I want to be nice about it, but--[_She cries._ STEVEN _kisses her again, in his arms._] I mustn't give way like this. I'll be a sight at the ball. Don't let me cry, dear.

STEVEN. All right. Come on upstairs now, and make yourself beautiful.

[_They go toward the door Right._

BELLA. [_Reentering Left._] Good evening again, is Miss Georgiana ready for me?

LOUISE. She must be,--is my hair all right?

BELLA. Oh, yes, that's one thing about my hair dressing, though I do say it as shouldn't, it _has_ a lasting quality.

[LOUISE _goes out Right._

GEORGIANA. [_Calls from inside._] Is that you, Bella?

BELLA. Yes, ma'am.

GEORGIANA. I'll be there in a minute--be quick, Lizzie.

BELLA. [_Lower voice._] Mr. Carley, have you seen the evening papers?

STEVEN. No!

BELLA. I just bought one and it's got an article about the 91st regiment.

STEVEN. What about it?

[_Looks to see if door is closed._

BELLA. [_Same voice._] They say it may 'a' been wiped out of existence: it's three weeks now since news of it was due, and the paper's afraid they've met with an ambyscade or something like that.

STEVEN. Oh, when the newspapers are hard up for news they get up something about the Philippines! It's the modern sea-serpent. When there's absolutely nothing else to print--no girl suicide in Brooklyn, or cyclone in Kansas, or joke on Chicago, then they give the Philippines a paragraph or an insurrection. Don't you worry, Miss Shindle.

[_He sits in the arm-chair near the sofa._

BELLA. But it says the island they went against was the heathenest of the lot, and that there's no good reason why if they'd hadn't no fight with the natives, we shouldn't 'a' had news from them.

STEVEN. The whole question of news in a case like this is too uncertain to make so much alarm about. The men's idea is not to send picture postal cards of daily movements home to America, but to lick the natives into shape!

BELLA. I'm sure you do comfort me. Don't know as Miss Georgiana told you, but my young man's out there, with Mr.--Lieutenant Coleman.

STEVEN. Well, don't worry. You just make up your mind the papers are short of news to-night.

BELLA. Goodness, they won't be to-morrow with all they're going to print about this ball! Say, I've a friend whose sister's a literary lady and writes for the Sunday papers in Buffalo. She's got an article in my line, called the "Heads of the Smart Set which was Set at the Grand Duke." Ain't that a cute name for an article? And it don't mean their heads either; it means their coffyures, as she says--she speaks French.

She was born and raised in Niagara Falls, near to Canada, where the language comes natural,--over the water, as it were!

STEVEN. [_Going to her._] I wouldn't mention this newspaper report to Miss Carley--it would only needlessly alarm her, perhaps, and spoil her evening.

BELLA. Oh, I wouldn't for worlds.

[_She moves to the dressing table as_ GEORGIANA _comes in._

GEORGIANA. Here I am'. Oh, my dear Steve! You'll be late. You're not dressed yet.

STEVEN. All right. I'm going now--I was entertaining Miss Shindle till you were ready.

[_With, a bow to_ MISS SHINDLE, STEVEN _goes out Right._

BELLA. [_Taking her bottles, etc., from a little bag which she carries._] He _is_ a _perfect_ gentleman!

GEORGIANA. [_Sitting before the dressing table._] Now come along, Bella!

I only want you to brush my hair; I've had a trying evening here, and I've a splitting headache. See if you can take it away and make me look as if I'd never had one.

BELLA. [_Tying ap.r.o.n about_ GEORGIANA'S _neck._] I'll do my best; but I can tell you most of the ladies I know'd be willing to have a headache every blessed minute of their lives if they could look as you do now!

GEORGIANA. Oh, what blarney, Bella! I don't know, somehow I want to be beautiful to-night.

BELLA. For the Dook?

[_Beginning to brush her hair._

GEORGIANA. No!

BELLA. For him?

[_Pointing at_ COLEMAN'S _photograph with her hair-brush._

GEORGIANA. Yes. [_Drawing the picture toward her._] It was a dear letter I had from him to-night, Bella! I hope you'll have as nice a one from Mr. Gootch to-morrow morning.

BELLA. Well, if I don't--

[_Shutting her teeth, she unconsciously pulls_ GEORGIANA'S _hair._

GEORGIANA. Oh, oh!

BELLA. Oh, I beg your pardon!

GEORGIANA. Don't take it out on me, wait till Mr. Gootch gets back!

BELLA. [_Combing._] I don't know as you're the jealous kind. Judging from your hair you ain't. It usually goes with blonde or red, or else crimpy, and what I dislike about red hair is the freckles--you can almost count on 'em! You've got sort of trusting hair. But besides, Mr.