Steele. (Thinking Celia is crying) You brute! You--you blundering idiot!
Tarver. (Coming down R. of Celia) Even now he's dead, he's kept you from the concert to-night. My agent told me that we just shouldn't do it. He expects I will lose by a hundred votes.
Faraday. How's that?
Celia. (Looking up quickly) Oh, no, Bobby, it's not too late. We'll help you. (Rises and crosses to Smith, who is R.)
Smith. I am at your service, Miss Faraday.
Tarver. (To Smith, eagerly) And you're some good--aren't you? (Goes up to Phyllis, back C.)
Faraday. We may call on you later, Vavasour.
Smith. Do. Do.
Faraday. (Taking Admiral by the arm and going) Come along, Admiral. Come and have a cigar and we'll talk it over. (Spoken off stage R.) Smith or no Smith, we must win this seat.
Tarver. (Taking Phyllis' arm) Madge--Evelyn. Let's go and count the names of the hundred beasts who won't vote for me.