[MAGGIE's mouth tightens.]
MAGGIE. I do not.
COMTESSE. It is a duel, is it, my friend?
[The COMTESSE rings the bell and MAGGIE's guilty mind is agitated.]
MAGGIE. What are you ringing for?
COMTESSE. As the challenged one, Miss Pin, I have the choice of
weapons. I am going to send for your husband to ask him if he has
written such a speech. After which, I suppose, you will ask me to
leave you while you and he write it together.
[MAGGIE wrings her hands.]
MAGGIE. You are wrong, Comtesse; but please don't do that.
COMTESSE. You but make me more curious, and my doctor says that I
must be told everything. [The COMTESSE assumes the pose of her sex in
melodrama.] Put your cards on the table, Maggie Shand, or--[She
indicates that she always pinks her man. MAGGIE dolefully produces a
roll of paper from her bag.] What precisely is that?
[The reply is little more than a squeak.]
MAGGIE. John's speech.
COMTESSE. You have written it yourself!
[MAGGIE is naturally indignant.]
MAGGIE. It's typed.
COMTESSE. You guessed that the speech he wrote unaided would not
satisfy, and you prepared this to take its place!
MAGGIE. Not at all, Comtesse. It is the draft of his speech that he
left at home. That's all.
COMTESSE. With a few trivial alterations by yourself, I swear. Can
you deny it?
[No wonder that MAGGIE is outraged.
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