Celia. No, Bobby, he was out; but see what I brought you--some throat lozenges and a box to keep them in.
Tarver. (Comes to her at foot of table and takes boxes from her. Lugubriously) It's awfully good of you to think of me, Celia. (Crosses back to L.C.) Just at this time, too.
(Evelyn pulls Tarver violently around R. He staggers across stage and falls in chair extreme R.)
Omnes. Hush!!!
(Grice glares at Tarver, Phyllis and Madge offer Celia tea, Faraday the muffin-stand, and Grice offers her the plate of cake. All this is done quickly and simultaneously.)
Phyllis. You had better have some tea, Celia.
Grice. (Smiling at her) Cake, with plums in it.
Celia. (Laughing) You are all very kind to me this afternoon.
(They all turn away hurriedly, quickly putting down the things they have been offering Celia and laughing nervously.)
Omnes. Not at all, dear. Not unusually so. Not a bit. (Etc., etc.)