Celia. (Giving it to him) Oh! Thank you, Father.
(Faraday holds both his hands in muff. Phyllis solicitously takes Celia's gloves.)
Madge. (In a bereaved tone, offering her a cup of tea) Celia, dear, have some tea?
(Faraday goes up and around to back, R.C.)
Celia. No, thanks, Madge. I've been having tea with the Duchess. Oh, how do you do, Admiral. (Shaking hands across table with Grice) You don't know how I'm looking forward to your dinner party to-night. (Sits L. of table L., unwrapping two small parcels and placing tissue paper on book slide.)
Grice. (Very gloomily) It was a good dinner. I suppose that now----
(Faraday coughs and all in a strained whisper say, "Admiral!")
Tarver. (Rising and coming C.) Did you manage to catch Wilson? (Tarver's question shocks all.)
Phyllis. (Trying to hush him) Bobby!
Evelyn. (In a hoarse whisper) Just at this time, too.