Um—um! (She walks over, draws his watch from his pocket and shows him the time)
It’s nearly four o’clock.
Just a minute—the light’s fine, and I want to finish.
Yes, I know, but he may be here any minute.
Well, that’ll keep him while I get ready. That’s mostly what they came for, anyhow.
But he’s different. He isn’t a Cook’s tourist—
No, he’s a relative!
You wouldn’t say that if one of your family dropped in. Besides, I’ve never even seen him. And he’s something of a collector, Joe. He buys pictures.
So I hear. The last thing he bought was a Bougereau!
Well, he’s a relative ... and when he sees your last things!
Um.... There, it’s all done.
I’m crazy to see it, Joe, but run up and get ready. Sh! (A knock at the door. Joe runs upstairs to the balcony. Silvia opens the door and admits Mr. Wentworth, rather stout and with gold spectacles)
Yes. This is Mr. Wentworth? Joe and I have been expecting you. Let me take your coat. The studio’s rather upset just now—
Delightful! How I love the atmosphere of work in a studio! I used to paint a bit myself, you know.
Did you? Father never mentioned that.
Oh, I guess everybody has forgotten it by now. An early adventure with life! Goodness only knows what might have happened, though, if the business hadn’t fallen on me to look out for. I might have been a great artist. Ha!