Paula—He won't accept it. He'd rather starve.
Count—[With a touch of exasperation.] Curious that your friends never have such scruples, only your enemies.
Paula—Have you noticed how badly he looks? That's from worrying about me.
Count—It's from staying up nights, pacing to and fro beneath my window. He has the bad taste to suppose that I would seduce one of my employees in my own house. . . . But . . . sunbeam . . . our love deserves a worthier setting . . . doesn't it?. . . A flight to Paris by the swiftest motor we can find . . . and from there southward to the sea . . . under the skies of Spain that God only made for people to love under. . . . [Comes nearer to her. Juhasz enters at left.]
Juhasz—I beg pardon. I only wanted to give Miss Paula these.
Count—[Crossly.] Certainly. Certainly.
Juhasz—[Gives Paula a bundle of closely written pages.] Here are the detailed statements his excellency wants. Mr. Santha was kind enough to get them up last night.
Paula—He did them for me? [Looks at the pages; smiles; to the Count.] Forty pages, all closely written. Oh, that dear Mr. Santha! I don't know how to thank him. [Gives the pages to the Count.]
