David
I’ll talk to her.
Nicky
All right. She won’t bother about us much.
David
No—I don’t suppose she will. I think I’ll be getting along to bed now. Good night, my boy!
Nicky
Good night, father!
[They shake hands, and David pats Nicky’s shoulder rather tentatively. He goes upstairs and Nicky wanders to the piano. He plays absently, and Bunty enters.]