Phoebe. I want you to come and be photographed for the Daily Mirror. The man’s waiting downstairs.
Elizabeth. I’ll stop with Annys.
Mrs. Mountcalm-Villiers. I’m not quite sure, you know, that I take well by flashlight.
Phoebe. You wait till you’ve seen mamma! We must have you. They want you for the centre of the page.
Mrs. Mountcalm-Villiers. Well, if it’s really—
Phoebe. (To the others.) Shall see you again. (She winks. Then to Mrs. Mountcalm-Villiers.) We mustn’t keep them waiting. They are giving us a whole page.
(Phoebe takes Mrs. Mountcalm-Villiers out. Elizabeth has followed to the door; she closes it. Annys has reseated herself, facing the fire.)
Elizabeth. When did you see your husband last?
Annys. Not since—Tuesday, wasn’t it, that we went round to his rooms. Why?
Elizabeth. I’m thinking about Manchester. What was it he said to you?