[_As they go to the right-hand door at the back._] Unfair?

LILY.

To the others. I can't think what made me so thoughtless.

[_They disappear. Two of the waiters carry out the soiled gla.s.ses, etc.; another follows with the ices, and the bearded waiter with the strawberries-and-cream. After a while, LUIGI also withdraws._

ENID.

[_Leaving the counter with VON RETTENMAYER._] Well, what did you say to him?

VON RETTENMAYER.

I told him the biece wants lifding in the zecond aggd and that he ought to gif you anoder dance.

ENID.

[_On the right._] What did _he_ say?

VON RETTENMAYER.

He will think it over!

ENID.

[_Scornfully._] Ha! That's Smythe's invariable formula, cunning old fox!

VON RETTENMAYER.

But we are to dalk aboud it lader. I am waiding to ged him alone.

ENID.

Pff! _You_ won't get him alone, you stupid; _he'll_ take precious good care of that. [_Finding that LUIGI and the waiters have departed, and walking across to the left._] Ah, but it isn't dancing my mind's dwelling on just now, dear boy.

VON RETTENMAYER.

[_Following her._] Nod?

ENID.

It's rest I'm yearning for-- my holiday!-- rest for my weary bones.

[_Turning to him without a sign of disturbance._] Karl, I'm simply bursting with rage.

VON RETTENMAYER.

Rage?

ENID.

That wretched hotel at Ostend-- the Plage! They've the confounded impudence to ask me a hundred-and-twenty-five francs a day for two cubby-holes on the third floor, for my aunt and me.

VON RETTENMAYER.

Monsdrous. [_With a shrug._] But Ostend is-- Ostend.

ENID.

Thanks for the information. Is that all the sympathy you can offer?

VON RETTENMAYER.

Bardon. [_Humbly._] There may be gheaper hodels.

ENID.

Where the common people pay for their beds and meals with Cook's coupons! [_Sitting upon the arm of the further settee in the centre and swinging her feet._] Oh, it doesn't matter. I suppose it'll have to be Swanage, or some brisk resort of that description. [_Sighing._]

So be it! [_Humming._] Tra, lal, lal, la----!

VON RETTENMAYER.

[_Sitting on the nearer settee in the centre, close to her, with an anxious expression._] A hundred-and-twendy-five frangks a day?

ENID.

Including nothing-- absolutely nothing!

VON RETTENMAYER.

[_Biting his nails._] Prezisely! There's the eading and dringking.

ENID.

One can't starve, that's certain.

VON RETTENMAYER.

Which would amound to----?

ENID.

[_Watching him out of the corner of her eye._] I believe aunt and I could manage to feed ourselves on forty francs a day-- or fifty-- at a pinch.

VON RETTENMAYER.

[_His face growing longer and longer._] A hundred-and-twendy-five-- and fifdy----

ENID.