Faraday, enthusiastically) Admiral Grice plays a ripping game.
Faraday. (Gayly) Come along, Admiral. Come along.
Grice. (Crossing left. Faraday takes him by the arm. They go up to card room together, chatting gayly) Not bad. Not bad.
(These last few lines are played very quickly. Celia has remained in chair R. of L. table after Raleigh has gone to card room. Aunt Ida and Madge are standing up stage and those who have gone into the card room seat themselves in the following fashion, after the settling of partners in dumb show: Raleigh is seated down stage, his back to the audience; Lady Trenchard to his right, Faraday to his left, and Admiral Grice opposite him. They begin their game of bridge. Tarver has gone up R. of sofa, getting a cigarette at head of table. Phyllis throws herself lightly on the sofa on her knees, gathering up Celia's letters and flourishing them at her.)
Phyllis. Celia, here are some letters for you.
Celia. (Crossing to chair L. of table R. and sitting) Letters for me?
Phyllis. One is a big one. (Gives Celia letters, kneeling on sofa.)
Celia. I don't suppose any of them are very important.
Phyllis. (Pityingly) No, I don't suppose so.
Celia. (Looking at letters) Circulars. Circulars. (Tears open one envelope and takes out circular letter. Then seeing big envelope, says brightly as she picks it up and draws out fashion plates) Oh, spring fashions.
Phyllis. (With an air of superiority) Oh, you don't want those. Give them to me.
(Celia submissively hands them, over, leaving large blue envelope on table. Phyllis takes them and sits on sofa with Tarver, who has come down after lighting his cigarette. They hold hands, backs to Celia, looking at fashions.)
Celia. (Reading letter that she has opened) "Dear Sir or Madam: Having secured our unparalleled stock of sherry wine on a falling market-" (Drops envelope and opens another. Reads) "Dear Madam: You are cordially invited to attend our spring opening of household linens-"
Faraday. (Coming from card room) Madge, you will play?
Madge. No, thanks, I'll finish my letter. (Who has been talking to Aunt Ida, goes back to writing table up R. and resumes writing.)
Faraday. (Disappointedly) And Phyllis doesn't.
Aunt Ida. Well, there's Celia.
Faraday. (Coming down to Celia,) God bless my soul! Of course, why did I forget?
Celia. Oh-that's all right, Father. (Cheerfully opening her letters) It's being done, you know.
Faraday. (To Tarver and Phyllis, who are seated on sofa, holding hands) Now, then, you two, none of that! No holding hands! (They rise quickly, looking embarrassed and facing father.) You are; not engaged yet, you know.
Celia. (Happily) Engaged? Phyllis and Mr. Tarver?
Faraday. (Reassuringly) No, no, certainly not. Nothing of the kind. Cheer up, my dear. (Patting Celia on the shoulder) You don't suppose I would allow a chick like Phyllis to marry with you on my hands still?
Aunt Ida. (Who has been watching him and listening to him) William! (She takes him by the arm and they go up to the card room together.)
(There are now in the card room Grice, Faraday, Steele, Raleigh, Lady Trenchard and Aunt Ida. Aunt Ida is out of sight. Raleigh, Lady Trenchard, Grice and Faraday are playing. Steele is circulating about above table. Tarver goes up in the morning room, sits left of table, and reads a magazine. Celia rises and goes to Phyllis, who meets her below sofa.)
Celia. Phyllis-?
Phyllis. (Eagerly) Oh, Celia, you don't really mind, do you? Just because you can't-I mean, because you don't want to-get married, you won't try to stop Bobby and me, will you?
Celia. (In a hurt tone) Phyllis-dear-
Phyllis. (Relieved) I knew you wouldn't. I told Bobby-!
Celia. And do you mean to say that Mr. Tarver- (Controlling herself with effort) Phyllis, dear- You ought to know-by now-there isn't anything I wouldn't do to make my littlest sister happy. (Patting Phyllis on cheek.)
Phyllis. (Carelessly engrossed in her own affairs) Oh, of course, I know that. But, Celia, you're quite mistaken and unjust about poor Bobby.
Celia. (Smiling, rather bitterly) Oh-I hope not, Phyllis. I-can't stand-injustice!
Phyllis. (Kneeling on stool R.C.) But you are! In spite of all his worries and preoccupations about his election, Bobby takes the greatest interest in you, Celia-
Celia. (Crosses C. Smiles ironically) Yes?
Phyllis. I tell you he does! (Forgetting herself in her zeal) As soon as he has time, Bobby means to do everything he can to get Admiral Grice to propose to you!
Celia. (Recoiling) What!!
Phyllis. (Crestfallen) Oh-I oughtn't to have told you, I suppose. But it's true, all the same. (Reproachfully) You don't appreciate Bobby's noble nature, Celia. You don't know how Bobby realizes your-your loneliness, Celia. Unless you could hear him talk about you, you'd never guess how much darling Bobby pities you.
Celia. (In a changed voice) Phyllis. One moment, please- (With an effort at calm) Do you mean to say that you and-and Mr. Tarver have been-been discussing-me? Oh! (Clenching her handkerchief.)
Phyllis. Not discussing– (Self-righteously) Bobby would not discuss anybody. But-you see, Celia, we were all-Aunt Ida and all of us-talking, just in fun, about your having to wear Green Stockings once more at my wedding, and Bobby-(Laughs to herself) Darling Bobby, is so witty-!
Celia. Oh, yes-go on, Phyllis.
Phyllis. (Injured) Well, but he is.
Celia. Oh, yes-yes-
Phyllis. And so Bobby was just being most awfully sweet and sympathetic about your-your position.
Celia. My position-! (Between her teeth) My-position! And so Mr. Robert Tarver was kind enough to express concern, was he-because there was no possible chance of any decent man ever wanting to marry me?
Phyllis. (Half frightened) Oh, Celia! (Rises.)
Celia. And he makes jokes about my stockings. (Goes L. to chair R. of table L. and stands beside it.) I can hear his jokes!
Phyllis. Oh, Celia! Bobby is witty.
Celia. (Ironically) Yes, very.
Faraday. (In card room) I don't think much of that, Admiral.
Grice. (In card room) You don't? What's the matter with it?
(These last two lines are spoken hurriedly, almost together in card room, as Celia's expression conveys to the audience her sudden determination to invent her story.)
Celia. (With entire change of manner) Call him down here, Phyllis, please, and tell him I want to speak to him.
Phyllis. Celia! (Crossing to center) But why?
Celia. Oh, nothing. I only want to thank him, you know, about old Admiral Grice, and tell him that he need no longer complicate his anxiety about his election with worries about me or the color of my stockings.
Phyllis. (Startled) Why, Celia-what do you mean?
Celia. Well, you see-(Laughs) – I am not quite accustomed to announcing-my engagement.
Phyllis. (With undisguised