I thought you were low, but I never thought you'd sink to...Who the heck do they think they are, barging in on peaceful people?
Now, shush, shush, they'll think you don't want them.
I want them out and you too.
Yes, yes your Majesty, but first, could I interest you in some small blackmail?
No!
[as he removes an article from his coat pocket]
Well, it's an article, complete with snapshots, details, and insinuations. And it's ready for publication in Spy and it's about your father and that dancer in New York.
Now quiet, Dinah...
But they can't. Well they can't, even if it's true. Where did you get these?
From Sidney Kidd. The editor and publisher...
He's got to be stopped.
Well he is, temporarily. That is, if you'll allow those two to turn in a story on your wedding. And when Kidd says a story, he means a story!
I'm gonna be sick.
Yes, dear. 'An Intimate Day with a Society Bride.'
I am sick.
Well, it's tough, but that's the way it seems to be.
So I'm to be examined, undressed, and generally humiliated at fifteen cents a copy. And you, you ---. You're loving it.
Am I, Red?
