(_Enter_ MARTIN R.IE. _and stands_.) AUNT IDA. (_Continuing_) She'll have been waiting for an hour on that dreadful wharf. EVELYN. (_Still reading and speaking over her book_) Oh, Martin, the motor must go at once to the wharf to fetch Miss Celia. MARTIN. Yes, your Ladyship, but hadn't I better send down some extra wraps; it's a very wet night. EVELYN. (_Looking up for a moment_) Wet? Dear me, is it raining? AUNT IDA. Cats and dogs. EVELYN. (_Returning to her reading_) Oh, very well, then, Martin, attend to it at once. MARTIN. (_Turns to go to door_ R.) Yes, your Ladyship. MADGE. (_From_ L.C.) Attend to _me_ first, Martin, if you please. MARTIN. (_Turns back_) Yes, madam. MADGE. How late can I post in order to catch the Indian mail? MARTIN. Up till ten o'clock, madam. MADGE. (_Going back to desk_) Oh, then I have time to write a longer letter. (MARTIN _exits_ R.I.) AUNT IDA. (_Looking around at girls, who are all occupied and quite oblivious of_ CELIA'S _discomfort. With a deep sigh and shaking her head_) Poor Celia. PHYLLIS. (_Gives a slight bang on the piano, rises and comes quickly down center. Indignantly_) Poor Celia. Well, she's coming back home just at a moment that's going to complicate--_the--whole--situation_. EVELYN. Why, what do you mean? PHYLLIS. (_Addressing_ EVELYN) Well, you know how father feels about letting me _get_ married--while Celia is settling down day after day into a permanent old maid. If she'd stay away a little longer, he might forget for a while, but here she's turning up just _this very night_, just as Bobby has gained courage enough to take the bull by the horns and beard the lion sulking in his tent. (_Enter_ TARVER _in evening dress, dejectedly_, R.U., _coming down center_.) AUNT IDA. What an extraordinary proceeding. PHYLLIS. (_Running up to_ BOBBY _and taking him by the arm_) Oh! Bobby, Bobby! What news? TARVER. Well, I'm afraid it's hopeless, though I spoke with singular force. (_Sits in chair left of table_ R.) PHYLLIS. (_Stands_ L. _of chair_, L. _of table_ R.) Oh, Bobby, how splendid of you! How did you put it? TARVER. In the form of a question. I said to your father, "Are you aware, sir, that I love your daughter and wish to make her mine?" EVELYN. What did _Father_ say? TARVER. Oh, he said, "Has it escaped your observation, sir, that I still have _two_ marriageable daughters?" PHYLLIS. (_Protestingly_) But he hasn't, he hasn't. AUNT IDA. Eh? PHYLLIS. You know what I mean, Aunt Ida. _I'm_ marriageable, but _Celia_--well--_Celia's_ just--_unmarried_. EVELYN. (_With smiling sarcasm_) And very likely to stay so. AUNT IDA. (_Grunts_) Huh! TARVER. That's just it, but tell me, what is your father's dearest wish in life? PHYLLIS. To get rid of us _both_, of course. AUNT IDA. _Phyllis Faraday!_