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?