BODIE (_excitedly_). By heavens, that may just be what she is
doing. (_He contemplates a letter to the ‘Times.’_)
CINDERELLA (_little aware that she may have solved the question of
the ages_). Beauty’s a grand thing.
BODIE. It is.
CINDERELLA. I warrant _she_ led them a pretty dance in her day.
BODIE. Men?
CINDERELLA. Umpha! (_wistfully_). It must be fine to have men so
mad about you that they go off their feed and roar. (_She turns
with a sigh to the dusting of the penguin._) What did you say this
is?
BODIE (_ignorant of what he is letting himself in for_). A bishop.
CINDERELLA (_nearly choking_). The sort that marries swell couples?
BODIE. Yes.
CINDERELLA (_huskily, as if it made all the difference to her_). I
never thought of that.
BODIE (_kindly_). Why should you, you queer little waif. Do you
know why I call you Cinderella?
CINDERELLA. Fine, I know.
BODIE. Why is it?
CINDERELLA (_with shy happiness_). It’s because I have such pretty
feet.
BODIE. You dear little innocent. (_He thinks shame of his
suspicions. He is planning how to get rid of the man in the pantry
when she brings him back to hard facts with a bump._)
CINDERELLA (_in a whisper_). Mr. Bodie, if you wanted to get
into Buckingham Palace on the dodge, how would you slip by the
policeman? (_she wrings her hands_). The police is everywhere in
war-time.
BODIE (_conscious how near one of them is_). They are—be careful,
Cinderella.