JIMMY. (puzzled) You don't want to—so to speak—reform me?
THE ANGEL. Not at all. Why, I scarcely know you!
JIMMY. But you're my—my Guardian Angel, you say?
THE ANGEL. Ah, yes, to be sure. But the relation of angelic guardianship has for some hundreds of years been a purely nominal one. We have come to feel that it is best to allow mortals to attend to their own affairs.
JIMMY. (abruptly) Then what did you come for?
THE ANGEL. For a change. One becomes tired of familiar scenes. And I thought that perhaps my relationship to you might serve in lieu of an introduction. I wanted to be among friends.
JIMMY. Oh—I see.
ANNABELLE. Of course. We're delighted to have you with us. Won't you sit down? (She leads the way to the fire.)
THE ANGEL. (perching on back of one of the big chairs) If you don't mind! My wings, you know.
JIMMY. (hesitantly) Have a cigarette?