WILLIAM. Oh!
HELEN. There's only mother.
MRS. CROSBY (rising and moving to HELEN'S side in front of table R.). Oh, my dear, forgive me. Your mother should have been here to-night.
HELEN. No, my mother—Mrs. Crosby—mother doesn't go out—she'd be unhappy here, and you'd be uncomfortable if she came. You'll find her trying sometimes, you'll think she's common. Oh, don't misunderstand me. She's the most wonderful mother in the world. And she's—
MRS. CROSBY. Suppose, my dear, that we take your mother for granted. (She crosses to a position between WILLIAM and HELEN.) Take us as you find us and we will try to be happy.
(Enter CROSBY from door L. He is a fine-looking man of about sixty, with a pleasant personality, a good deal of charm and that masterful self-possession which sometimes marks the man of affairs. It is always evident that the most delightful intimacy exists between himself and his wife.)
MRS. CROSBY. Well, Roscoe?
CROSBY (moves to L.C.). Welcome, my dear. (HELEN crosses to him and he takes her in his arms.)
HELEN. Oh, Mr. Crosby—I—
CROSBY (placing HELEN L. of him with arm still around her, reaching his other hand to WILLIAM). Bill, shake!