15

                   MADAME MARKFORD
                (furiously in a 
                 low voice)
       You, there, what are you doing? 
       You shouldn't be here.

DOROTHY smiles indulgently to MADAME MARKFORD as if encountering the village idiot during an afternoon stroll.  She addresses her in a haughty Garbo-esque tone.

                       DOROTHY
       I beg your pardon?  Is this not the 
       Saint-Tropez Millinery?  The most 
       exclusive boutique in all of 
       Wash-ing-ton?

MADAME MARKFORD is taken aback, momentarily thrown for a loop by DOROTHY’s foreign accent.

                   MADAME MARKFORD
       This "boutique" is not for your kind.

DOROTHY’s spine stiffens.  She looks down her nose in withering disdain to MADAME MARKFORD, who bristles with outrage.

                       DOROTHY
                (imperiously)
       My kind?  How dare you address me 
       in such an insolent manner.  I  
       demand to speak to the manager.