_Barlow_ (_striking thoughtful attitude_). Yes, where can it be? Let me do your thinking for you, Miss Dorothy. (_Then softly to her._) Always! _Yardsley_ (_mocking BARLOW_). Yes! Let _me_ think! (_Points his finger at his forehead and assumes tragic attitude. Then stalks to the front of stage in manner of burlesque Hamlet._) Come, thought, come. Shed the glory of thy greatness full on me, and thus confound mine enemies. Where the deuce is that Gibson? _Dorothy._ Oh, I remember. It's upstairs. I took it up with me last night. I'll ring for Jennie, and have her get it. _Yardsley_ (_aside, and in consternation_). Jennie! Oh, thunder! I'd forgotten her. I do hope she remembers not to forget herself. _Barlow._ What say? _Yardsley._ Nothing; only--ah--only that I thought it was very--very pleasant out. _Barlow._ That's what you said before. _Yardsley_ (_indignantly_). Well, what of it? It's the truth. If you don't believe it, go outside and see for yourself. [_JENNIE appears at the door in response to DOROTHY'S ring. She glances demurely at YARDSLEY, who tries to ignore her presence._ _Dorothy._ Jennie, go up to my room and look on the table in the corner, and bring me down the portfolio you will find there. The large brown one that belongs in the stand over there. _Jennie_ (_dazed_). Yessum. And shall I be bringin' lemons with it? _Dorothy._ Lemons, Jennie? _Jennie._ You always does have lemons with your tea, mum. _Dorothy._ I didn't mention tea. I want you to get my portfolio from upstairs. It is on the table in the corner of my room. [_Looks at JENNIE in surprise._ _Jennie._ Oh, excuse me, mum. I didn't hear straight. [_She casts a languishing glance at YARDSLEY and disappears._ _Yardsley_ (_noting the glance, presumably aside_). Confound that Jennie! _Barlow_ (_overhearing YARDSLEY_). What's that? Confound that Jennie? Why say confound that Jennie? Why do you wish Jennie to be confounded? _Yardsley_ (_nervously_). I didn't say that. I--ah--I merely said that--that Jennie appeared to be--ah--confounded. _Dorothy._ She certainly is confused. I cannot understand it at all. Ordinarily I have rather envied Jennie her composure. _Yardsley._ Oh, I suppose--it's--it's--it's natural for a young girl--a servant--sometimes to lose her--equipoise, as it were, on occasions. If we lose ours at times, why not Jennie? Eh? Huh? _Barlow._ Certainly. _Yardsley._ Of course--ha--trained servants are hard to get these days, anyhow. Educated people--ah--go into other professions, such as law, and--ah--the ministry--and-- _Dorothy._ Well, never mind. Let's talk of something more interesting than Jennie. Going to the Chrysanthemum Show, Mr. Barlow? _Barlow._ I am; wouldn't miss it for the world. Do you know, really now, the chrysanthemum, in my opinion, is the most human-looking flower we have. The rose is too beautiful, too perfect, for me. The chrysanthemum, on the other hand--