Enter Rose, r. d.
Rose (crossing up stage to r.). Why, you wretched boys, haven’t you gone up yet?
[Men jump and turn with consternation.
Steven (concealing letter behind him). Why—ah—is it late?
Enter Helen, r. d., and crosses to tea-table, which she draws back to l.
Rose. Late! You’ve just ten minutes to dress. Be quick! Mrs. Wycherly has been stopped in the hall by a telegram, and if she catches you here you’ll never hear the last of it.
[Men exit hurriedly and awkwardly l. d.
Helen. Talk of the tardiness of women!
Rose. I know they’ve been talking about us. Did you see how guilty they looked?
[Crosses to desk.