Bemis: 'Now,
Mrs. Lou, you just whip off that crumpled tie and whip on the fresh
one, and, MISTER Lou, you give his hair a touch, and I'll have this
torn button-hole mended before you can think.' She seizes it and
begins to sew vigorously upon it.
MRS. CRASHAW: 'Agnes, you are the most ridiculously sensible woman
in the country.'
LAWTON, standing before the group, with his arms folded and his feet
well apart, in an attitude of easy admiration: 'The Wounded Adonis,
attended by the Loves and Graces. Familiar Pompeiian fresco.'
MRS. ROBERTS, looking around at him: 'I don't see a great many
Loves.'
LAWTON: 'She ignores us, Mrs. Crashaw. And after what you've just
said!'
MRS. ROBERTS: 'Then why don't you do something?'
LAWTON: 'The Loves NEVER do anything--in frescoes. They stand
round and sympathise. Besides, we are waiting to administer an
anaesthetic. But what I admire in this subject even more than the
activity of the Graces is the serene dignity of the Adonis. I have
seen my old friend in many trying positions, but I never realised
till now all the simpering absurdity, the flattered silliness, the
senile coquettishness, of which his benign countenance was capable.'
MRS. ROBERTS: 'Don't mind him a bit, Mr. Bemis; it's nothing but--'
LAWTON: 'Pure envy. I own it.'
BEMIS: 'All right, Lawton. Wait till--'
MRS. ROBERTS, making a final stitch, snapping off the thread, and
springing to her feet, all in one: 'There, have you finished, Mr.
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