GEORGIANA. No, Bella, Henry Irving has never been in this room, and it's Louis XVI.

BELLA. Oh, of course! [_Writing._] How well you're looking, Miss Georgiana. Look to me kinder as if you thought good news was in the wind!

[_She glances at her surrept.i.tiously, but down again quickly, frightened._

GEORGIANA. Why, Bella?

BELLA. Oh, that's just my idea, that's all. What might this picture be?

Shall we say--er--er--Michael Ange?

GEORGIANA. [_Suppressing a smile._] No, that is a Van Dyck.

BELLA. Of course! I might have known! [_Writing._] This entire room is a fine bit, ain't it? All Louis--[_She looks back in her book._] 16, as a piece, I suppose?

GEORGIANA. Yes.

BELLA. So I see! My! How I love all this kind of thing. I couldn't live without a lot o' bric-a-brah lying around sort of careless like and undusted. These tapestries are real, I presume?

GEORGIANA. Yes.

BELLA. I thought so! I got a beautiful piece of tapestry over my washstand, hand-painted, and all the faces and clothes outlined in chenille cross-st.i.tch by the Singer Sewing Machine--but it's not quite the same as yours.

GEORGIANA. It must be very pretty.

BELLA. Oh, it adds a touch! Mr. Gootch gave it to me for an engagement present.

GEORGIANA. Does Mr. Gootch ever speak of Mr. Coleman?

BELLA. He worships him--naturally, as Mr. Coleman got wounded in both arms carrying him to a safe place! Mr. Gootch says as there wasn't a man in the regiment braver or as popular as Mr. Coleman. Don't you think, perhaps, sometimes, maybe, Miss Georgiana--

[_She stops near_ GEORGIANA.

GEORGIANA. Maybe what--?

BELLA. Oh, I dunno--I--

GEORGIANA. [_Rising and going to the sofa._] Come, Bella, we must get on with your article.

[_A pause._

BELLA. [_Looking about._] Why, you haven't got a cosy corner, have you?

And yet you seem to go in for the real artistic! I don't know what my sister 'n' I'd do without our cosy corner! It is draped with a fish net, and has paper b.u.t.terflies and beetles in it! Very artistic! And she's got--well, really now, I believe she's got at least _eleven pillers_; counting the two ticking ones that has their covers come off at night for our bed!

GEORGIANA. [_Rising nervously._] Bella, I have some colored dresses I'd like to give you for your trousseau, if you care to take them. They've not been worn very much.

BELLA. Oh, Miss Georgiana, of course I'd take 'em--only, I don't know, I sort of feel it in my bones you'll wear 'em yourself.

[STEVEN _enters Left suddenly. He tries to conceal his great excitement._ MOLES _is with him._

STEVEN. [_To_ MOLES.] Tell Mrs. Carley I want to see her here, please.

MOLES. Yes, sir.

[_He goes out Right._

STEVEN. h.e.l.lo, Georgy!

GEORGIANA. Steve!

STEVEN. Good morning, Miss Shindle.

BELLA. Good morning, Mr. Carley. I must be going now, Miss Georgiana.

GEORGIANA. But have you got enough for the article?

BELLA. Oh, yes, miss--Louise furniture, the Van Wyck picture, tapestry effects--etcetra. Thank you ever so much. Good-by!

GEORGIANA. Wait, I'll tell you about the dining room.

[_She goes out with_ BELLA _Left, and_ LOUISE _enters._

STEVEN. Louise, it's true!

LOUISE. Oh, Steve!

STEVEN. It was a press telegram and has been verified by private wire.

Besides, Mrs. Coleman has a telegram from d.i.c.k himself.

LOUISE. From where?

STEVEN. From San Francisco, when the Colemans were at Palm Beach. Their servants foolishly _mailed_ the telegram to them, and before it arrived in Florida, they were on their way North, coming by easy stages.

LOUISE. [_Rises._] And the message only just caught up with them! Who will tell her?

[MOLES _comes in Left with a note._

MOLES. A note just come for you, sir, by Mr. Coleman's man.

STEVEN. We must break it very gently, prepare her a little for it if we can. [_To_ MOLES.] Thanks. [_Takes note, opens it, and reads it hurriedly._] He's there! With his father and mother!

MOLES. [_Forgetting himself._] Oh, sir--I'm so glad! Excuse me, sir, but we're all so glad, sir--any answer sir?

[_His eyes fill up._

STEVEN. No, only tell Miss Georgiana I want to see her.

MOLES. [_Who has to swallow a lump in his throat before he can speak._]

Yes, sir.