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The Elevator
by [?]

I.

[SCENE: Through the curtained doorway of MRS. EDWARD ROBERTS’S pretty drawing-room, in Hotel Bellingham, shows the snowy and gleaming array of a table set for dinner, under the dim light of gas-burners turned low. An air of expectancy pervades the place, and the uneasiness of MR. ROBERTS in evening dress, expresses something more as he turns from a glance into the dining-room, and still holding the portiere with one hand, takes out his watch with the other.]

MR. ROBERTS to MRS. ROBERTS
entering the drawing-room from regions beyond: “My dear, it’s six o’clock. What can have become of your aunt?”

MRS. ROBERTS,
with a little anxiety: “That was just what I was going to ask. She’s never late; and the children are quite heart-broken. They had counted upon seeing her, and talking Christmas a little before they were put to bed.”

ROBERTS.
“Very singular her not coming! Is she going to begin standing upon ceremony with us, and not come till the hour?”

MRS. ROBERTS.
“Nonsense, Edward! She’s been detained. Of course she’ll be here in a moment. How impatient you are!”

ROBERTS.
“You must profit by me as an awful example.”

MRS. ROBERTS,
going about the room, and bestowing little touches here and there on its ornaments: “If you’d had that new cook to battle with over this dinner, you’d have learned patience by this time without any awful example.”

ROBERTS,
dropping nervously into the nearest chair: “I hope she isn’t behind time.”

MRS. ROBERTS,
drifting upon the sofa, and disposing her train effectively on the carpet around her: “She’s before time. The dinner is in the last moment of ripe perfection now, when we must still give people fifteen minutes’ grace.” She studies the convolutions of her train absent-mindedly.

ROBERTS,
joining in its perusal: “Is that the way you’ve arranged to be sitting when people come in?”

MRS. ROBERTS.
“Of course not. I shall get up to receive them.”

ROBERTS.
“That’s rather a pity. To destroy such a lovely pose.”

MRS. ROBERTS.
“Do you like it?”

ROBERTS.
“It’s divine.”

MRS. ROBERTS.
“You might throw me a kiss.”

ROBERTS.
“No; if it happened to strike on that train anywhere, it might spoil one of the folds. I can’t risk it.” A ring is heard at the apartment door. They spring to their feet simultaneously.

MRS. ROBERTS.
“There’s Aunt Mary now!” She calls into the vestibule, “Aunt Mary!”

DR. LAWTON,
putting aside the vestibule portiere, with affected timidity: “Very sorry. Merely a father.”

MRS. ROBERTS.
“Oh! Dr. Lawton? I am so glad to see you!” She gives him her hand: “I thought it was my aunt. We can’t understand why she hasn’t come. Why! where’s Miss Lawton?”

LAWTON.
“That is precisely what I was going to ask you.”

MRS. ROBERTS.
“Why, she isn’t here.”

LAWTON.
“So it seems. I left her with the carriage at the door when I started to walk here. She called after me down the stairs that she would be ready in three seconds, and begged me to hurry, so that we could come in together, and not let people know I’d saved half a dollar by walking.”

MRS. ROBERTS.
“SHE’S been detained too!”

ROBERTS,
coming forward: “Now you know what it is to have a delinquent Aunt-Mary-in-law.”

LAWTON,
shaking hands with him: “O Roberts! Is that you? It’s astonishing how little one makes of the husband of a lady who gives a dinner. In my time–a long time ago–he used to carve. But nowadays, when everything is served a la Russe, he might as well be abolished. Don’t you think, on the whole, Roberts, you’d better not have come