FAITH. My song? (_Sits_ R. _of table._)
BOBBIE. I wrote it specially for her.
JOYCE. Aren"t you lucky? Well, come out presently when you feel you"re rhapsodized enough. (_Crosses to corridor._)
BOBBIE. Oh, do shut up, Joy, and go away.
(BOBBIE _starts to play._)
JOYCE. All right, keep calm. (_Exits and re-enter._) Have you seen my racquet?
BOBBIE. No.
JOYCE. Oh, thanks, dear, for your kind help. Sorry I came in at the wrong moment.
(_Exit_ JOYCE _brightly._)
BOBBIE. Young sisters are a nuisance sometimes.
FAITH (_giggling_). They must be.
BOBBIE. Listen...
(FAITH _reads magazine and takes no notice of song. He plays and sings a short love song._)
BOBBIE. There! Do you like it.
FAITH (_putting magazine down--ecstatically_). Oh, Bobbie, that"s simply too sweet for words. It has a something about it--did you really write it for me?
BOBBIE (_ardently_). Every note.
(BOBBIE _plays a well-known and hackneyed song._)
FAITH. Bobbie! that"s wonderful! Wonderful!! It"s the best you"ve ever done. Now I _know_ you are clever.
BOBBIE (_coming_ C.). Yes! but I didn"t write that one.
FAITH (_goes to him_). Oh! didn"t you. Well, I know you would if you had thought of it--but never mind----
FAITH. Can you play the Indian Love Lyrics--I never get tired of them!
BOBBIE. I don"t want to play any more, I want to talk to you.
FAITH. What shall we talk about?
BOBBIE. I could tell you such wonderful things--but I don"t know whether you would understand.
FAITH (_pouting girlishly_). That"s not very polite. (_Coming down between armchair and Chesterfield._)
BOBBIE. I mean that you wouldn"t understand unless you felt like I do.
Oh, I don"t know how to put it--but do you?
FAITH (_coyly_). Do I what? (_Sits_ L. _of Chesterfield._)
BOBBIE (_by armchair--desperately_). Feel as if you could ever care--even a little bit--for me?
FAITH. I haven"t tried yet.
BOBBIE. Well, will you try?
FAITH. I must ask mother.
BOBBIE (_in anguish--moving slightly_ C.). Ask mother! But that"s no use. Why, my mother could never make me care for someone I didn"t want to, or not care for some one I did. Don"t you see what I mean. If you are ever going to care for me you will have to do it on your own. Love isn"t a thing to be ordered about at will. Love is wonderful--glorious, but above all, it"s individual--you can"t guide it. Why, you might fall in love with a taxi driver or a dope fiend----
FAITH. Mother would never allow me to _know_ a dope fiend.
BOBBIE (L. _of Chesterfield--firmly_). But if you _did_, your mother"s opinion wouldn"t have any effect at all--not if you had it in your heart--really and truly.
FAITH. Mother"s disapproval might stop me falling in love.
BOBBIE. No, it mightn"t--nothing could stop it. On the contrary it would probably strengthen it; opposition always does.
FAITH (_doubtfully_). Do you think so?
BOBBIE. I"m sure of it, but anyhow, I"m going to tell you something.
(MRS. DERMOTT _appears at window_ L.C. _with telegram._)
MRS. DERMOTT. Bobbie, darling----
BOBBIE (_irritably_). What is it, mother? (_Goes up to window._)
(FAITH _powders her nose, etc._)
MRS. DERMOTT. I"ve just received the oddest telegram. We met the boy in the drive. Do listen, I can"t understand it. (_She reads._) "Come to lunch Monday and discuss Royalties--Claverton." What _does_ it all mean?
BOBBIE. It"s not for you, it"s for Vangy. Claverton"s her publisher.
MRS. DERMOTT. What on earth do they want to discuss Royalties for. It sounds _so_ sn.o.bbish.
BOBBIE (_laughing_). Mother, at times you"re inimitable. Royalties means money, so much per cent., you know. We"ve explained it heaps of times.
MRS. DERMOTT. Of course, dear, how stupid of me; but still it is very muddling, when they call things by fancy names like that. Put it on the mantelpiece and give it to Vangy when she comes in.
(_She disappears._)
BOBBIE. Mother never will grasp the smallest technicality.
(_Coming down to fireplace, he puts the telegram on the mantelpiece._)