SEPTIMA. There’s something about it, isn’t there—the solemnity of it all—which starts you giggling? When the Vicar isn’t looking.
ROYCE. Yes.
SEPTIMA. Exactly. And that’s why we giggle—when the Vicar isn’t looking.
MARION (from outside). Septima!
OLIVER. And here comes the Vicar’s wife.
(MARION BLAYDS-CONWAY is fifty-five now. A dear, foolish woman, who has never got over the fact that she is OLIVER BLAYDS’ daughter, but secretly thinks that it is almost more wonderful to be WILLIAM BLAYDS-CONWAY’S wife.)
MARION. Oh, there you are. Why didn’t you—— (She sees ROYCE) Oh!
OLIVER. This is Mr. A. L. Royce, Mother.
MARION (distantly). How do you do?
ROYCE. How do you do?