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More chatter outside and a girl’s voice, a very spoiled voice, says: “Of all the stupid people——”

After a pause a third seeker enters, not she of the spoiled voice, but a younger edition. This is Cecelia Connage, sixteen, pretty, shrewd, and constitutionally good-humored. She is dressed for the evening in a gown the obvious simplicity of which probably bores her. She goes to the nearest pile, selects a small pink garment and holds it up appraisingly.

Cecelia: Pink?

Rosalind: (Outside) Yes!

Cecelia: Very snappy?

Rosalind: Yes!

Cecelia: I’ve got it!

(She sees herself in the mirror of the dressing-table and commences to tickle-toe on the soft carpet.)

Rosalind: (Outside) What are you doing—trying it on?

(Cecelia ceases and goes out carrying the garment at the right shoulder.

From the other door, enters Alec Connage. He looks around quickly and in a huge voice shouts: Mama! There is a chorus of protest from next door and encouraged he starts toward it, but is repelled by another chorus.)