He
contemplates the waiter raptly.)
DOLLY (dazzled). I never thought of that.
PHILIP. Nor I. (Coming off the table and turning reproachfully on
McComas.) Nor you.
DOLLY. And you a solicitor!
PHILIP. Finch: Your professional incompetence is appalling.
William: your sagacity puts us all to shame.
DOLLY You really are like Shakespear, William.
WAITER. Not at all, sir. Don't mention it, miss. Most happy, I'm
sure, sir. (Goes back modestly to the luncheon table and lays the two
additional covers, one at the end next the steps, and the other so as to
make a third on the side furthest from the balustrade.)
PHILIP (abruptly). Finch: come and wash your hands. (Seizes his arm
and leads him toward the hotel.)
McCOMAS. I am thoroughly vexed and hurt, Mr. Clandon---
PHILIP (interrupting him). You will get used to us. Come, Dolly.
(McComas shakes him off and marches into the hotel. Philip follows with
unruffled composure.)
DOLLY (turning for a moment on the steps as she follows them). Keep
your wits about you, William. There will be fire-works.
WAITER. Right, miss. You may depend on me, miss. (She goes into
the hotel.)
(Valentine comes lightly up the steps from the beach, followed
doggedly by Crampton. Valentine carries a walking stick. Crampton,
either because he is old and chilly, or with some idea of extenuating
the unfashionableness of his reefer jacket, wears a light overcoat.
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