Faraday. (Comes to chair R. of L. table and lays muff down on book rack) I wouldn't go into that, Celia. I wouldn't pursue that line of inquiry any further if I were you, my dear. (Tries to take paper.)
Celia. (Retaining her hold on paper) I just want to see if anybody is dead, Father. (Puts out a hand surreptitiously and pulls Aunt Ida near her. They all watch her with tragic anxiety. She sees notice, reads it, and utters a long, low cry of grief, then lets paper drop on table and with another long moan, rises and buries her face in Aunt Ida's shoulder.)
(Tarver curls up in chair extreme R., pulling his moustache.)
Phyllis. (Making sympathetic motion forward) Celia--darling.
Aunt Ida. (Waving her handkerchief up and down) Sh--sh--sh--sh! (They stand in grief-stricken attitudes, contemplating her.)
Faraday. (Brokenly) Celia--my child----
Aunt Ida. (Waving her handkerchief up and down) Sh--sh--sh--sh!
Evelyn. Poor Celia!
Aunt Ida. Sh--sh--sh--sh! (Pause.) I think--she will--say something soon.
Celia. (Raising a flushed, quivering face from Aunt Ida's shoulder) So you were all--trying to keep this--from me?