Bobbie. No, I didn't.
Joyce. Yes, you did, you and Faith—I saw you.
Oliver. Well, where is it now?
Sylvia (ruminatively). I did see a racquet behind the summer house this morning. Would that be it?
Oliver (furiously). Look here, Bobbie, if you go leaving my racquet out all night again I'll punch your head....
Bobbie (rising, flaring up). I tell you I never touched your damned racquet—I've got one of my own. (Knocks his chair over.)
Joyce. A jolly rotten one, though.
Bobbie. Shut up, Joyce, and mind your own business.
Evangeline. Don't speak to Joyce like that, Bobbie. You ought to be ashamed of yourself.
Bobbie. I'll speak how I like.