Muriel (calmly). Why, Viola? Albert is getting accustomed to his being grown-up, and Claude to his being so young. They all like him immensely. But I think they will be glad when he goes away.
[Enter gentlemen.
Claude (talking to Alan). Yes, I felt I had something to say—and I said it—in one volume.
Alan. There is no mistake so fatal as to write because one has something to say.
Claude. How about Robinson Crusoe, Don Quixote——
Alan. I am afraid I never read them. I couldn't read till I was ten—and then I read dear Herbert Spencer.
[He tries to join Viola and passes Mrs. Averidge, who moves to leave room for him on the sofa, and smiles.
Alan (standing by the sofa). Weren't the flowers quite sweet on the table to-night, Mrs. Averidge?
Mrs. Averidge (trying to be original). I can't bear flowers.
Alan. What do you like, Mrs. Averidge?