CELIA. Oh, I know I'll be a perfect fool, but I'll be the only one who will know it, and if one little fib can turn this household upside down, I am going to keep it there now just as long as it pleases me. (_Saunters right_.) AUNT IDA. (_Frightened_) Celia, suppose you are found out! CELIA. (_Coming back_ C.) Now, what should I do? My heroic Wobbles--my beloved Colonel Smith will die--in Somaliland. (_Going to magazine table, gets calendar, comes down_ C. _to_ AUNT IDA _and runs over leaves_.) Now, let me see when--when will he die? (_Stop's at a leaf_.) On October 11th. There, now, it is all arranged. (_She replaces calendar on table_.) After eight brief months of the most perfect understanding, I shall lose--Wobbles. After eight months, I'll write out a notice of his death and _you_ will send it to the Times. AUNT IDA. (_Slowly_) To _The Times?_ I? CELIA. Yes. AUNT IDA. Never. (_Sits_ R. _of table_ L.) CELIA. What? Not if I promise to go with you to Chicago? (AUNT IDA _shakes her head_.) And you know how much you always wanted me to do that. Oh, yes, you will, Aunt Ida. (_Goes to her_.) I'll buy the tickets to-morrow. You shall have the very nicest cabin on the whole ship. On October 11th we will kill off the Colonel and the very next day we will sail away, we'll sail away. (_Crosses_ R. _gayly_.) AUNT IDA. I tell you, I will not help you. It's too immoral. CELIA. Oh, very well, then. Have I, or have I not, proved now that I can help myself? AUNT IDA. (_Rising and coming_ C. _Half angry, half laughing_) Are you, or are you not, ashamed of yourself, Celia Faraday? CELIA. Ashamed? I? Why, no, not the least little bit in the world. I don't believe I was ever so happy in all my life. AUNT IDA. Oh, oh! CELIA. It's all very well, dear, for you to "Oh, oh!" at me, but I ask you, Aunt Ida, have you ever been pitied and patronized as I was here to-night, as I have been all these years, and looked upon as old and ugly and dowdy and dull? AUNT IDA. (_Sympathetically_) Not that, Celia, not that. CELIA. Oh, don't think I don't know those things about myself. I do, but I don't like to hear them all the time, just the same. Have you ever been a wall-flower at every ball you have gone to, while all the other girls danced and had a perfectly lovely time? Have _you_ ever been seated next to the _oldest_, _deafest_ members of the community at every dinner party you have gone to? Positively, Aunt Ida, I've grown so now that I can't talk at a dinner party except through an ear trumpet. (_Goes_ R. _and then returns_.) And, if that Tarver creature or a Jim Raleigh or that old fossil of an Admiral or any other mortal trouser-wearing remnant of humanity had ever condescended to propose to me, there isn't a man or woman in this entire household, beginning with Martin and the boot boy, who wouldn't respect me and treat me quite differently in consequence. AUNT IDA. Yes, I know it. CELIA. Oh, don't _I_ know it?