MALISE?
MALISE. Too much.
SIR CHARLES. Ah! Must smoke when you think a lot.
MALISE. Or think when you smoke a lot.
SIR CHARLES. [Genially] Don't know that I find that.
LADY DEDMOND. [With her clear look at him] Charles!
The door is opened. CLARE DEDMOND in a cream-coloured evening
frock comes in from the hall, followed by GEORGE. She is rather
pale, of middle height, with a beautiful figure, wavy brown
hair, full, smiling lips, and large grey mesmeric eyes, one of
those women all vibration, iced over with a trained stoicism of
voice and manner.
LADY DEDMOND. Well, my dear!
SIR CHARLES. Ah! George. Good dinner?
GEORGE. [Giving his hand to MALISE] How are you? Clare! Mr.
MALISE!
CLARE. [Smiling-in a clear voice with the faintest possible lisp]
Yes, we met on the door-mat. [Pause.]
SIR CHARLES. Deuce you did! [An awkward pause.]
LADY DEDMOND. [Acidly] Mr. Malise doesn't play Bridge, it appears.
Afraid we shall be rather in the way of music.
SIR CHARLES. What! Aren't we goin' to get a game? [PAYNTER has
entered with a tray.]
GEORGE. Paynter! Take that table into the dining room.
PAYNTER. [Putting down the tray on a table behind the door] Yes,
sir.
MALISE. Let me give you a hand.
PAYNTER and MALISE carry one of the Bridge tables out, GEORGE
making a half-hearted attempt to relieve MALISE.
SIR CHARLES. Very fine sunset!
Quite softly CLARE begins to laugh.
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