SCENE--_An Italian Restaurant--anywhere in the Metropolis. Only a few of
the small dining-tables are occupied as Scene opens. Near the buffet is
a small lift communicating with the kitchen, and by the lift a
speaking-tube._
_Enter an_ Adorer _with his_ Adored; _he leads the way down the centre
of the room, flushed and jubilant--he has not been long engaged, and
this is the very first time he has dined with Her like this_.
_Adorer (beaming)._ Where would you like to sit, PUSSY?
_Pussy (a fine young woman--but past the kitten stage)._ Oh, it's all
the same to _me_!
_Adorer (catching an aggrieved note in her tone)._ Why, you don't really
think I'd have kept you waiting if I could help it? There's always extra
work on Foreign Post nights! (PUSSY _turns away and arranges hat before
mirror_). Waiter! (_A Waiter who has been reading the "Globe" in the
corner, presents himself with_ Menu.) What shall we have to begin with,
eh, PUSSY?
[_The_ Waiter, _conceiving himself appealed to, disclaims the
responsibility with a shrug, and privately reflects that these stiff
Englishmen can be strangely familiar at times._
_Pussy._ Oh, I don't feel as if I cared much about anything--_now._
_Adorer._ Well, I've ordered Vermicelli Soup, and _Sole au gratin_. Now,
you must try and think what you'd like to follow. (_Tentatively._) A
Cutlet?
_Pussy (with infinite contempt for such want of originality)._ A
Cutlet--the _idea_!
_Adorer (abashed)._ I thought perhaps--but look down the list. (PUSSY
_glances down it with eyes which she tries to render uninterested._)
"_Vol au vent à l' Herbaliste_,"--that looks as if it would be rather
good. Shall we try that?
_Pussy._ You may if you like--I shan't touch it myself.
_Adorer._ Well, look here, then, "_Rognons sautés
Venézienne_,"--Kidneys, you know--you _like_ kidneys.
_Pussy (icily)._ Do I? I was not aware of it.
_Adorer._ Come--it's for you to say. (_Reads from list._)
"_Châteaubriand Bordelaise_," "Jugged Hare and Jelly," "Salmi of
Partridge." (PUSSY, _who is still suffering from offended dignity,
repudiates all these suggestions with scorn and contumely._) Don't like
any of them? Well, (_helplessly_) can't you think of anything you
_would_ like?
_Pussy._ Nothing--except--(_with decision_)--a Cutlet.
_Adorer (relieved by this condescension)._ The very thing! (_Tenderly._)
We will _both_ have Cutlets.
_Waiter (who has been waiting in dignified submission)._ Two Porzion
Cutlet, verri well--enni Pottidoes?
_Pussy (sharply)._ Potted what?
_Adorer (to Waiter)._ Yes. (_To_ PUSSY, _aside, in same breath._)
Potatoes, darling. (_The_ Waiter _suspects he is being trifled with._)
Do you prefer them _sautés_, fried, or in chips,--or what?
_Pussy (with the lofty indifference of an ethereal nature)._ I'm sure I
don't care how they're done!
_Adorer._ Then--Potato-chips, Waiter.
_Pussy_ (_as_ Waiter _departs_). Not for me--I'll have mine _sautés_!
_Adorer (when they are alone, leaning across table)._ I've been looking
forward to this all day!
_Pussy (unsympathetically)._ Didn't you have any lunch then?
_Adorer._ I don't mean to the dinner--but to having you to talk with,
quite alone by our two selves.
_Pussy (who has her dignity to consider)._ Oh, I daresay. I wish you'd
do something for me, JOSHUA.
_Adorer (fervently)._ Only tell me what it is, darling!
_Pussy._ It's only to get me that _Graphic_--I'm sure that gentleman
over there has done with it.
[_The_ Adorer _fetches it with a lengthening face_: PUSSY _retires
behind the "Graphic," leaving him outside in solitude. At length he
asserts himself by fetching "Punch," (which he happens to have seen)
from an adjoining table. A Bachelor dining lonely and unloved on the
opposite side of the room, watches them with growing sense of
consolation._