Part 7 (1/2)

FARADAY. (_From card room_) Come, Raleigh.

RALEIGH. (_Over his shoulder_) But you threw down your cards.

FARADAY. Well, I'm going to take them up again.

GRICE. (_Impatiently_) Come along, Raleigh!

STEELE. (_Triumphantly motions_ RALEIGH _back to card room and eagerly takes his place beside_ CELIA'S _chair_) What Raleigh has just said, I most warmly echo, my dear Miss Faraday.

(RALEIGH _returns and takes_ STEELE _by the arm_.)

RALEIGH. You are wanted over here, Steele.

(CELIA _watches them with amus.e.m.e.nt_.)

STEELE. But I am cut out.

RALEIGH. (_Taking_ STEELE _back to card room_) Well, you can cut in again.

(STEELE _goes reluctantly back to card room, protesting to_ RALEIGH _and looking back over his shoulder at_ CELIA _as he goes. Those in card room resume former positions and go on with bridge game_.)

MADGE. (_Coming down to_ CELIA _and putting her arms around her_) Celia!

(TARVER _strolls up to morning room and sits right of table and begins reading again_.)

CELIA. Yes.

MADGE. The _Indian Mail_ goes out to-night-via Brindisi and Port Said.

CELIA. Well?

MADGE. _Port Said_. That's where letters to Somaliland will be transferred.

(CELIA _is startled_.)

PHYLLIS. Oh, of course you must write to him. (_Jumps up, runs up to writing table_ R.C., _brings blotter from table, containing sheets of paper, envelopes, pens and ink, and puts them on magazine table; stands above and to the_ R. _of_ CELIA.)

CELIA. (_Protestingly_) But it's too late.

MADGE. No, the post doesn't go until ten. You have just time.

PHYLLIS. (_Opening blotting pad and ink well_) You must, if it is only a note. He will be expecting something.

CELIA. Oh, I couldn't write in such a hurry.