Martin. (Turns to go to door R.) Yes, your Ladyship.
Madge. (From L.C.) Attend to me first, Martin, if you please.
Martin. (Turns back) Yes, madam.
Madge. How late can I post in order to catch the Indian mail?
Martin. Up till ten o'clock, madam.
Madge. (Going back to desk) Oh, then I have time to write a longer letter. (Martin exits R.I.)
Aunt Ida. (Looking around at girls, who are all occupied and quite oblivious of Celia's discomfort. With a deep sigh and shaking her head) Poor Celia.
Phyllis. (Gives a slight bang on the piano, rises and comes quickly down center. Indignantly) Poor Celia. Well, she's coming back home just at a moment that's going to complicate--the--whole--situation.
Evelyn. Why, what do you mean?
Phyllis. (Addressing Evelyn) Well, you know how father feels about letting me get married--while Celia is settling down day after day into a permanent old maid. If she'd stay away a little longer, he might forget for a while, but here she's turning up just this very night, just as Bobby has gained courage enough to take the bull by the horns and beard the lion sulking in his tent.