Now, Miss.
MISS S. But where is Anne?
PRESS. Miss Stokes, as a lady----!
MISS S. I shall go and fetch Lord William!
POULDER. We will all go, Miss.
L. ANNE. [Rushing out from behind his legs] No--me!
[She eludes MISS STOKES and vanishes, followed by that
distracted but still well-mannered lady.]
POULDER. [Looking at his watch] 'Enry, leave the cooler, and take
up the wine; tell Thomas to lay it out; get the champagne into ice,
and 'ave Charles 'andy in the 'all in case some literary bounder
comes punctual.
[HENRY takes up the wine and goes.]
PRESS. [Above his head] I say, let me down. This is a bit
undignified, you know. My paper's a great organ.
POULDER. [After a moment's hesitation] Well--take 'im down, James;
he'll do some mischief among the bottles.
JAMES. 'Op off your base, and trust to me.
[THE, PRESS slides off the bin's edge, is received by JAMES, and
not landed gently.]
POULDER. [Contemplating him] The incident's closed; no ill-feeling,
I hope?
PRESS. No-o.
POULDER. That's right. [Clearing his throat] While we're waitin'
for Lord William--if you're interested in wine--[Philosophically]
you can read the history of the times in this cellar. Take 'ock: [He
points to a bin] Not a bottle gone. German product, of course.
Now, that 'ock is 'sa 'avin' the time of its life--maturin' grandly;
got a wonderful chance.
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