David
[Saunters in at the right. He is a winsome, appealing boy of seven, dressed in a most expensive and most uncomfortable manner. There is an eager look in his face—a look of yearning that has never been gratified. What he wants he cannot have, and what he has means very little indeed to him.]
Hello, Vicky.
Vicky
Master David, you knew you weren’t to come in here until ten o’clock!
David
[Glancing at a wrist watch.]
It’s nearly that now, Vicky.
Vicky
Exactly ten, your father said; ten exactly. He’s very busy dictating letters in his study—he’s brought a lot of work home from the office—but he’s going to give you a few minutes.