[Exit Evans, L.
[Miss Woodward goes to telephone and takes line.
Miss Woodward.
[Speaking into telephone—very sweetly.] Yes, are you there?—yes—who are you? Speak a little louder, please. Oh!—Well? Yes—I don’t know—Mr. Parbury’s just coming in now—he’ll speak to you—keep the line.
[She returns to the desk.
Enter Mr. Parbury from garden. His hair is untidy; he is flustered and cross. He is an agreeable-looking man of about forty.
Parbury.
Thank heaven, they’re gone! This house is a mistake! With the nerve force one expends in swearing at street singers one might do some good work. Make a note, please—look for house in secluded part of country. [Miss Woodward makes note.] And make a note—write Times re Street Music; suggest Local Option.
Miss Woodward.
The Saturday Sentinel is waiting to speak to you on the telephone.