at thing. Oliver's _so_ proud of
it. I can't think why.

BOBBIE. Well, I wish he'd go and be proud of it somewhere else. Look
here, three distinct scratches.

MRS. DERMOTT. Never mind dear. Griggs will get them out with sandpaper
or something.

(BOBBIE _commences to play over the manuscript_ JOYCE _has just
copied. Occasionally he stops and alters something with a pencil.
No one takes any notice. The dialogue goes on just the same._)

(_Coming down to_ EVANGELINE.) If you've nearly finished, Vangy dear, do
put the typewriter away. It looks so untidy.

EVANGELINE (_rather crossly, rising_). Of course I quite see that until
my room's done, I shall never be able to do any work at all. (_Puts
cover on typewriter, then pushes table up to back_ L.)

MRS. DERMOTT. Don't be cross, darling. You know how worried I am over
everything this morning. It's one long rush.

EVANGELINE (_kissing her_). Sorry dear. I quite understand, only I must
have this story sent to the _Clarion_ by Tuesday. If not, it won't be
out until the August number.

MRS. DERMOTT. You're a dear darling, and you work terribly hard. I only
hope you won't overdo it.

EVANGELINE. Oh no, these stories are only pot boilers. They just fill in
the time until my next novel is ready.

BOBBIE (_suddenly._). Listen, don't you think this is a ripping change?
(_He plays a few chords. He then sits back complacently._)

MRS. DERMOTT. Perfectly lovely, darling.

EVANGELINE. It sounds very much like everything else to me.

BOBBIE. Only because you haven't got any ear. As a matter of fact
they're quite good chords. I shall put them into the new tomb-stone
cycle.

EVANGELINE. Don't alter many of my words, will you?

BOBBIE. Not many, but the bit about "worms gnawing the grave of my
beloved" is a little too gloomy. Couldn't you make it butterflies?

(JOYCE _giggles._)

EVANGELINE. Don't be silly, Bobbie! butterflies don't live in graves.
Well, you can use the first two verses as they are.

BOBBIE. I will.

(_He starts to play again_, MRS. DERMOTT _is just going towards the
stairs when there comes a ring and knock at the front door._)

JOYCE (_rising_). My goodness, the Crombies--I must go and wash. I'm
covered in ink. (_Going to stairs._)

EVANGELINE (_down_ L. _of table_). I shouldn't worry, dear, they'll be
so overdressed themselves they will amply make up for any deficiencies
in our appearances.

JOYCE. I think I'd better go a