]
MAGGIE. I didn't see him, but I heard him. SHE is with him. I think
they are coming here.
[The COMTESSE is suddenly kind again.]
COMTESSE. Sybil? Shall I get rid of her?
MAGGIE. No, I want her to be here, too. Now I shall know.
[The COMTESSE twists the little thing round.]
COMTESSE. Know what?
MAGGIE. As soon as I look into his face I shall know.
[A delicious scent ushers in the fair SYBIL, who is as sweet as a
milking stool. She greets MRS. SHAND with some alarm.]
MAGGIE. How do you do, Lady Sybil? How pretty you look in that frock.
[SYBIL rustles uncomfortably.] You are a feast to the eye.
SYBIL. Please, I wish you would not.
[Shall we describe SYBIL'S frock, in which she looks like a great
strawberry that knows it ought to be plucked; or would it be easier
to watch the coming of JOHN? Let us watch JOHN.]
JOHN. You, Maggie! You never wrote that you were coming.
[No, let us watch MAGGIE. As soon as she looked into his face she was
to know something of importance.]
MAGGIE [not dissatisfied with what she sees]. No, John, it's a
surprise visit. I just ran down to say good-bye.
[At this his face falls, which does not seem to pain her.]
SYBIL [foreseeing another horrible Scotch scene]. To say good-bye?
COMTESSE [thrilling with expectation]. To whom, Maggie?
SYBIL [deserted by the impediment, which is probably playing with
rough boys in the Lovers' Lane].
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