Alma. But I say she shall.
Ned. You’ve changed your mind very quickly.
Alma. It’s my own mind; I can do what I like with it, I suppose. I’m not the only changeable person in the world. I know an author who once said he’d written a part specially for me, that I was the only person who could play it, and that I was the only person who should play it; because he thought I was the only person who would play it: and now he’s found another woman, it’s all off. He wants to take the part out of my hands and put it into hers; and a nice mess she’ll make of it, and I hope she will. (goes round sofa, and up to back)
Ned. (crosses to L.C.) How do you know she can’t play the part?
Alma. (following Ned, L.) Because there’s only one woman on the stage who can—and that’s me. That’s how I know it; and when your piece is damned, and they shy bricks at you, you’ll know it too. Here, take your part, and take your play, and take your hat, and take your stick, and get out of my room. (thrusting the things on him)
Ned. (going up) I’ll take it to Miss Carlton.
Alma. (stopping him; snatches part back; removes his hat and stick, and bumps him down on sofa) No, you won’t. I tell you she can’t play it! What’s more, she shan’t play it. (tucking it under her arm, and taking stage R.) This part was written for Miss Alma Blake, and no one but Miss Alma Blake shall touch it! (crosses R.)
Ned. (rising; crosses to Alma, overjoyed) You’ve changed your mind again.
Alma. That’s only twice. I’ve changed it twenty times in less time before now—(crosses to Ned)—and I shall change it fifty if I like! Why shouldn’t I change my mind? If you had such a nasty, horrid, cantankerous mind as I’ve had for the last five minutes, shouldn’t you be precious glad to change it?
Ned. I’m only too delighted.