Peggy. Of course I know! You were engaged to an heiress when you ran away and married an actress. Why don't you put the heiress into this play?
Will. Gladys?
Peggy. Gladys was her name, I believe. How did she act when you told her that you loved me best? A cold, proud beauty, ready to die before she'd let you know she cared! And isn't that exactly what your audience is looking for? Exactly their idea of a princess of plutocracy! And still you waste your time with a sister! Who the deuce cares anything about a sister?
Will. Look here, Peggy. You'd better write this play!
Peggy. I've been thinking about it, ever since you first told me the idea. Draw up your chair, and let me show you what I mean. (The Play-play begins to appear.) There's Bob and Jessie, the same as before; but also there's Gladys. I want a quite different atmosphere from what you had. It's afternoon, and Gladys is serving tea, and she handles the situation in tea-party fashion. Give me some paper and let me sketch the dialogue. (She begins to write rapidly. Full light on the Play-play. Will makes secret exit.)
Gladys. I'm waiting with a good deal of interest.
Bob. For what?
Gladys. I'm wondering how long it will be before it occurs to Jack to ask what I think of this plan of his.
Jessie. I hope you'll make him give it up, Gladys!
Gladys. Your suggestion is out of date, dear. The modern young man doesn't give up his ideas at the request of his fiancee.