She gets up
leisurely and moves flat-footed towards it. The door being
opened CLARE is revealed.
CLARE. Is Mr. Malise in?
MRS. MILER. Yes. But 'e's dressin'.
CLARE. Oh.
MRS. MILER. Won't take 'im long. What name?
CLARE. Would you say--a lady.
MRS. MILER. It's against the rules. But if you'll sit down a moment
I'll see what I can do. [She brings forward a chair and rubs it with
her apron. Then goes to the door of the inner room and speaks
through it] A lady to see you. [Returning she removes some
cigarette ends] This is my hour. I shan't make much dust. [Noting
CLARE's eyebrows raised at the debris round the armchair] I'm
particular about not disturbin' things.
CLARE. I'm sure you are.
MRS. MILER. He likes 'is 'abits regular.
Making a perfunctory pass with the Bissell broom, she runs it to
the cupboard, comes back to the table, takes up a bottle and
holds it to the light; finding it empty, she turns it upside
down and drops it into the wastepaper basket; then, holding up
the other bottle, and finding it not empty, she corks it and
drops it into the fold of her skirt.
MRS. MILER. He takes his claret fresh-opened--not like these 'ere
bawgwars.
CLARE. [Rising] I think I'll come back later.
MRS. MILER. Mr. Malise is not in my confidence. We keep each other
to ourselves. Perhaps you'd like to read the paper; he has it fresh
every mornin'--the Westminister.
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