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Cecelia: Often when you’re particularly sulky, I’ve wondered why it should all be wasted on just one family. (Getting up) I think I’ll go down and meet Mr. Amory Blaine. I like temperamental men.

Rosalind: There aren’t any. Men don’t know how to be really angry or really happy—and the ones that do, go to pieces.

Cecelia: Well, I’m glad I don’t have all your worries. I’m engaged.

Rosalind: (With a scornful smile) Engaged? Why, you little lunatic! If mother heard you talking like that she’d send you off to boarding-school, where you belong.

Cecelia: You won’t tell her, though, because I know things I could tell—and you’re too selfish!

Rosalind: (A little annoyed) Run along, little girl! Who are you engaged to, the iceman? the man that keeps the candy-store?

Cecelia: Cheap wit—good-by, darling, I’ll see you later.

Rosalind: Oh, be sure and do that—you’re such a help.

(Exit Cecelia. Rosalind finished her hair and rises, humming. She goes up to the mirror and starts to dance in front of it on the soft carpet. She watches not her feet, but her eyes—never casually but always intently, even when she smiles. The door suddenly opens and then slams behind Amory, very cool and handsome as usual. He melts into instant confusion.)