(CINDERELLA _leaves him and gazes in irritation at the statue_.) CINDERELLA. What is it about the woman? BODIE (_in his heat forgetting the policeman_). She is the glory of glories. CINDERELLA (_who would be willowy if she were long enough_). She’s thick. BODIE. Her measurements are perfection. All women long to be like her, but none ever can be. CINDERELLA (_insisting_). I suppose that’s the reason she has that snigger on her face. BODIE. That is perhaps the smile of motherhood. Some people think there was once a baby in her arms. CINDERELLA (_with a new interest in Venus_). Her own? BODIE. I suppose so. CINDERELLA. A married woman then? BODIE (_nonplussed_). Don’t ask trivial questions. CINDERELLA (_generously_). It was clever of you to make her. BODIE. I didn’t make her. I was—forestalled. Some other artist chappie did it. (_He likes his little maid again._) She was dug up, Cinderella, after lying hidden in the ground for more than a thousand years. CINDERELLA. And the baby gone? BODIE (_snapping_). Yes. CINDERELLA. If I had lost my baby I wouldn’t have been found with that pleased look on my face, not in a thousand years. BODIE. Her arms were broken, you see, so she had to drop the baby— CINDERELLA. She could have up with her knee and catched it— BODIE (_excitedly_). By heavens, that may just be what she is doing. (_He contemplates a letter to the ‘Times.’_) CINDERELLA (_little aware that she may have solved the question of the ages_). Beauty’s a grand thing. BODIE. It is. CINDERELLA. I warrant _she_ led them a pretty dance in her day. BODIE. Men? CINDERELLA. Umpha! (_wistfully_). It must be fine to have men so mad about you that they go off their feed and roar. (_She turns with a sigh to the dusting of the penguin._) What did you say this is? BODIE (_ignorant of what he is letting himself in for_). A bishop. CINDERELLA (_nearly choking_). The sort that marries swell couples? BODIE. Yes. CINDERELLA (_huskily, as if it made all the difference to her_). I never thought of that. BODIE (_kindly_). Why should you, you queer little waif. Do you know why I call you Cinderella? CINDERELLA. Fine, I know. BODIE. Why is it? CINDERELLA (_with shy happiness_). It’s because I have such pretty feet. BODIE. You dear little innocent. (_He thinks shame of his suspicions. He is planning how to get rid of the man in the pantry when she brings him back to hard facts with a bump._) CINDERELLA (_in a whisper_). Mr. Bodie, if you wanted to get into Buckingham Palace on the dodge, how would you slip by the policeman? (_she wrings her hands_). The police is everywhere in war-time. BODIE (_conscious how near one of them is_). They are—be careful, Cinderella. CINDERELLA. I am—oh, I am! If you knew the precautions I’m taking— BODIE (_miserable_). Sh! CINDERELLA (_now in a quiver_). Mr. Bodie, you haven’t by any chance got an invite for to-night, have you? BODIE. What for?