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.