Celia. (Protestingly) But it's too late.
Madge. No, the post doesn't go until ten. You have just time.
Phyllis. (Opening blotting pad and ink well) You must, if it is only a note. He will be expecting something.
Celia. Oh, I couldn't write in such a hurry.
Phyllis. (Forcing pen into Celia's hand) You must.
Celia. (Laughingly) Well, I can't write with you two at my elbows, you know.
(Madge goes slowly up into card room, turning and smiling at Celia as she goes.)
Phyllis. (Running up and around and down to foot of sofa) I shan't look. (Kneels on Chesterfield sofa, facing Celia) What do you call him?
Celia. (At a loss) I don't know.
Phyllis. (Surprised) You don't know?