A hotel sitting room. A table in the centre. On it a telephone. Two
chairs at it, opposite one another. Behind it, the door. The fireplace
has a mirror in the mantelpiece.
A spinster Princess, hatted and gloved, is ushered in by the hotel
manager, spruce and artifically bland by professional habit, but
treating his customer with a condescending affability which sails very
close to the east wind of insolence.
THE MANAGER. I am sorry I am unable to accommodate Your Highness on the
first floor.
THE PRINCESS [very shy and nervous.] Oh, please don't mention it. This
is quite nice. Very nice. Thank you very much.