Mrs. Dermott. Danny, darling, I do hope——
Daniel. Nonsense, dear—there is no hope—but that's a comfort to me. I always imagine hope weary after a game of blind man's buff sitting on an orange—so uncomfortable.
(Mrs. Crombie and Faith sit below and R. of table respectively.)
Mrs. Dermott (sits Chesterfield, dabbing her eyes). Really, Danny, you are too absurd.... I'm so glad Sylvia brought you safely, I never really feel happy in my mind when she's out with the car. It's not really woman's work.
Daniel (sitting armchair). As far as I can gather from what she has been telling me—filming seems to require a certain amount of unwomanly abandon!
Sylvia (at back of Chesterfield, laughing). I was only telling him about that day in the middle of the village street, when I had to do three "close ups" on top of one another.
Mrs. Dermott. It all sounds vaguely immoral to me, but I hope it's all right.
Daniel. Define the expression "close up." What does it mean?
Sylvia. When they bring the camera right up to your face and you have to register various emotions—fear—suspicion—joy—yearning—sorrow—(she does them) that's a close up.
Mrs. Dermott. Isn't she wonderful?