MRS. ANSLOW.

I sent him a long account of my accident at Roehampton and he hasn't
condescended to take the slightest notice of it.

MRS. QUEBEC.

Oh, Mr. Green!

MRS. ANSLOW.

[_To_ GREEN.] It's cruel of you.

GREEN.

[_To_ MRS. ANSLOW, _twiddling his moustache._] Alack and alas, deah
lady, motor collisions are not quite in my line!

MRS. ANSLOW.

You might have passed it on to the accident man. Or you could have said
that I'm to be seen riding in the Row evidently none the worse for my
recent shock. _That's_ in your line.

GREEN.

Haw! I might have done that, certainly. [_Tapping his brow._] Fact
is--height of the Season--perfectly distracted----

MRS. ANSLOW.

[_With the air of a martyr._] It doesn't matter. I sha'n't trouble you
again. I've never been a favourite of yours----

GREEN.

[_Appealingly._] Haw! Don't----!

MRS. ANSLOW.

It's true. I was one of the few stall-holders at the Army and Navy
Bazaar whose gowns you didn't describe--[_Seeing_ PHILIP _and nodding
to him hazily._] How d'ye do?

ROOPE.

[_Prompting her._] Mr. Mackworth----

[MRS. ANSLOW _goes to_ PHILIP _and proffers him a limp
hand._ GREEN _retreats to the fireplace and_ MRS. QUEBEC
_rises and pursues him._

MRS. ANSLOW.

[_To_ PHILIP.] I think we met once at my cousins', the Fairfields'.

PHILIP.

[_Bowing._] Yes.

MRS. ANSLOW.

You write, don't you?

PHILIP.

[_Evasively._] Oh----!

ROOPE.

[_Joining them._] My dear Mrs. Anslow, Mr. Mackworth is one of the most
gifted authors of the present day.

PHILIP.

[_Glaring at_ ROOPE.] Tsssh!

ROOPE.

[_To_ MRS. ANSLOW.] Get his books from your library instantly. I envy
you the treat in store for you----

[NOYES _again appears._

NOYES.

Madame de Chaumie.

[OTTOLINE DE CHAUMIE _enters--a beautiful, pale, elegant
young woman of three-and-th