style="font-size:15px;"> Madge. (Going back to desk) Oh, then I have time to write a longer letter. (Martin exits R.I.)
Aunt Ida. (Looking around at girls, who are all occupied and quite oblivious of Celia's discomfort. With a deep sigh and shaking her head) Poor Celia.
Phyllis. (Gives a slight bang on the piano, rises and comes quickly down center. Indignantly) Poor Celia. Well, she's coming back home just at a moment that's going to complicate-the-whole-situation.
Evelyn. Why, what do you mean?
Phyllis. (Addressing Evelyn) Well, you know how father feels about letting me get married-while Celia is settling down day after day into a permanent old maid. If she'd stay away a little longer, he might forget for a while, but here she's turning up just this very night, just as Bobby has gained courage enough to take the bull by the horns and beard the lion sulking in his tent.
(Enter Tarver in evening dress, dejectedly, R.U., coming down center.)
Aunt Ida. What an extraordinary proceeding.
Phyllis. (Running up to Bobby and taking him by the arm) Oh! Bobby, Bobby! What news?
Tarver. Well, I'm afraid it's hopeless, though I spoke with singular force. (Sits in chair left of table R.)
A
Phyllis. (Stands L. of chair, L. of table R.) Oh, Bobby, how splendid of you! How did you put it?
Tarver. In the form of a question. I said to your father, "Are you aware, sir, that I love your daughter and wish to make her mine?"
Evelyn. What did Father say?
Tarver. Oh, he said, "Has it escaped your observation, sir, that I still have two marriageable daughters?"
Phyllis. (Protestingly) But he hasn't, he hasn't.
Aunt Ida. Eh?
Phyllis. You know what I mean, Aunt Ida. I'm marriageable, but Celia-well-Celia's just-unmarried.
Evelyn. (With smiling sarcasm) And very likely to stay so.
Aunt Ida. (Grunts) Huh!
Tarver. That's just it, but tell me, what is your father's dearest wish in life?
Phyllis. To get rid of us both, of course.
Aunt Ida. Phyllis Faraday!
Evelyn. (Putting magazine on sofa and putting out cigarette on ashtray) Yes, so that he can give up this house to live at his club, but he promised poor mother to wait till we were all married-
Tarver. Yes, and he knows there's a better chance of getting Celia off his hands as long as Phyllis is about, because people will go on talking of her and Celia as the two Faraday girls, and lumping good old Celia into the girl division just out of habit. He won't risk letting Miss Celia put on a third pair of green stockings. (Tarver looks around for ashtray, sees one on upper end of table, rises, goes to upper end of table, flicks ashes on tray and strolls down right of sofa and sits lower end of fender.)
Aunt Ida. Eh? Will you tell me what all this has to do with Celia's stockings?
(Phyllis sits in chair L. of table R.)
Evelyn. (Rising leisurely, going to lower end of table, taking her fan and crossing to Aunt Ida, speaking as she goes) Not Celia's stockings, Aunt Ida, her green stockings.
Aunt Ida. Eh?
Evelyn. Why, yes. Have you never known of the old country custom which requires an elder sister to wear green stockings at the wedding of her younger sister, if that younger sister has captured a husband first?
Aunt Ida. (Turning her back to Evelyn with disgust) No, I never heard of such rubbish.
Evelyn. (Patronizingly, crossing to head of table R. and speaking as she crosses) And poor old Celia has had to put them on twice already. Once for Madge and once for me, and now comes Phyllis. (Puts her hand on Phyllis's shoulder.)
Phyllis. And if I have to wait to be married until Celia is out of the way- (Sighs. Evelyn moves above table and down R. of sofa.) Oh, couldn't we think of anybody who might marry Celia? Evelyn, do you think you could do anything about it with Henry Steele or Jimmie Raleigh?
Tarver. (With a brilliant inspiration) If it comes to that, why shouldn't Admiral Grice be got to marry Miss Celia? (Everybody exclaims and throws up their hands in horror.)
(Evelyn sits on sofa.)
Phyllis. (Horrified) Oh, Bobby!
Tarver. Yes, Grice. (Thoughtfully, strolling center below table) Isn't half a bad idea, come to think of it. I'd like to get even with Grice. (Aunt Ida gives a grunt of disgust.) The way he keeps roaring questions at me all day about my election, and neither he nor Miss Celia are what you might call-in the first bloom of their youth.
Aunt Ida. (Interrupting sharply) Mr. Tarver, my niece, Miss Celia Faraday, is a dear, delightful young woman, still under thirty.
Evelyn. (Again with smiling sarcasm) Yes, but how much under, Aunt Ida?
Tarver. Yes, as Lady Trenchard says, how much is Miss Celia Faraday under thirty? Thirty-two is freezing-point, remember. (Phyllis laughs.)
Aunt Ida. Tcha! (Picks up knitting and goes on with it angrily.)
Tarver. (Chuckling to himself and strolling right to foot of table) Jimmie Raleigh said a very true thing about her. He said, "Whenever I talk to Miss Faraday, I'm warranted to stay cold for days-like a Thermos bottle." (Sits on stool.)
Phyllis. Oh, Bobby!
Aunt Ida. Oh, Mr. Tarver! (Smiling with suppressed fury) I should like to have you in Chicago for a week.
Tarver. (Taking her seriously) Oh, thanks awfully. I dare say some day, after my election, I shall have to look up America. Just at present, though, I have too much on my mind.
Aunt Ida. Shouldn't overburden the weak, Mr. Tarver.
Phyllis. (Showing resentment) Oh, Aunt Ida! (Evelyn laughs.)
Tarver. (Rises, gives Aunt Ida a resentful look, turns up R. by fender and addresses Evelyn) But the great thing now is to get old Grice to propose to Miss Celia.
Evelyn. (Very patronizingly) Why, yes, Bobby. Then out of gratitude she might go out and canvass for you.
Tarver. (Doubtfully) Ye-es, that would be very nice, of course. (Rises enthusiastically.) But fascinating girls are what is needed at a time like this-like you, Lady Trenchard, and Phyllis and Mrs. Rockingham. (He bows to each as he addresses them. Going up to Madge at desk R.) I say, when is your husband coming back from India?
Madge. Not till Christmas. (Rises.)
Tarver.
