SIR HARRY. [_Complacently._] Did that seem all right, eh?
LADY SIMS. [_Much relieved._] I think perfect.
LADY SIMS. Oh, very. And it will be still more so when you have the sword.
SIR HARRY. The sword will lend it an air. There are really the five moments--[_suiting the action to the word_]--the glide--the dip--the kiss--the tap--and you back out a knight. It's short, but it's a very beautiful ceremony. [_Kindly._] Anything you can suggest?
LADY SIMS. No--oh, no. [_Nervously, seeing him pause to kiss the tassel of a cushion._] You don't think you have practised till you know what to do almost too well?
[_He has been in a blissful temper, but such niggling criticism would try any man._
SIR HARRY. I do not. Don't talk nonsense. Wait till your opinion is asked for.
LADY SIMS. [_Abashed._] I'm sorry, Harry. [_A perfect butler appears and presents a card._] "The Flora Typewriting Agency."
SIR HARRY. Ah, yes. I telephoned them to send some one. A woman, I suppose, Tombes?
SIR HARRY. Show her in here. [_He has very lately become a stickler for etiquette._] And, Tombes, strictly speaking, you know, I am not Sir Harry till Thursday.
TOMBES. Beg pardon, sir, but it is such a satisfaction to us.
SIR HARRY. [_Good-naturedly._] Ah, they like it down-stairs, do they?
TOMBES. [_Unbending._] Especially the females, Sir Harry.
SIR HARRY. Exactly. You can show her in, Tombes. [_The butler departs on his mighty task._] You can tell the woman what she is wanted for, Emmy, while I change. [_He is too modest to boast about himself, and prefers to keep a wife in the house for that purpose._] You can tell her the sort of things about me that will come better from you. [_Smiling happily._] You heard what Tombes said: "Especially the females." And he is right. Success! The women like it even better than the men. And rightly. For they share. _You_ share, _Lady_ Sims. Not a woman will see that gown without being sick with envy of it. I know them. Have all our lady friends in to see it. It will make them ill for a week.
[_These sentiments carry him off light-heartedly, and presently the disturbing element is shown in. She is a mere typist, dressed in uncommonly good taste, but at contemptibly small expense, and she is carrying her typewriter in a friendly way rather than as a badge of slavery, as of course it is. Her eye is clear; and in odd contrast to_ LADY SIMS, _she is self-reliant and serene_.