MYRA: Is your father here? SIMON: Yes; he’s working on a new novel. MYRA: He writes brilliantly. SIMON: Doesn’t he? He drinks too much tea, though. MYRA: It can’t do him much harm, surely? SIMON: It tans the stomach. MYRA: Who is Sandy Tyrell? SIMON: Never heard of him. MYRA: He’s here, with Judith. SIMON: Oh, that poor thing with hot hands! We’ll ignore him. MYRA: I thought he looked rather nice. SIMON: You must be mad. He looked disgusting. MYRA (_laughing_): Idiot! SIMON (_flinging himself on the sofa_): Smooth my hair with your soft white hands. MYRA (_ruffling it_): It’s got glue on it. SIMON (_catching her hand and kissing it_): You smell heavenly. What is it? MYRA: Borgia of Rosine. SIMON: How appropriate. (_He pulls her down and kisses her._) MYRA (_breaking away_): You’re too demonstrative to-day, Simon. [_The front door bell rings._ SIMON: Damn, damn! It’s those drearies. [_MYRA powders her nose as CLARA crosses to open door._ [_RICHARD GREATHAM and JACKIE CORYTON come in. There is, by this time, a good deal of luggage on the step. RICHARD is iron-grey and tall; JACKIE is small and shingled, with an ingenuous manner which will lose its charm as she grows older._ RICHARD: This is Mrs. Bliss’s house. CLARA (_off-hand_): Oh, yes, this is it. RICHARD: Is Miss Sorel Bliss in? CLARA: I expect so. I’ll see if I can find her. (_She goes upstairs, humming a tune._) SIMON: Hallo. Did you have a nice journey? RICHARD: Yes, thank you, very nice. I met Miss Coryton at the station. We introduced ourselves while we were waiting for the only taxi to come back. MYRA: Oh, _I_ took the only taxi. How maddening of me. RICHARD: Mrs. Arundel! How-do-you-do. I never recognised you. [_They shake hands._ JACKIE: I did. MYRA: Why? Have we met anywhere? JACKIE: No; I mean I recognised you as the one who took the taxi. RICHARD (_to SIMON_): You are Sorel’s brother? SIMON: Yes; she’ll be down in a minute. Come out into the garden, Myra—— MYRA: But, Simon, we can’t.... SIMON (_grabbing her hand and dragging her off_): Yes, we can. I shall go mad if I stay in the house a moment longer. (_Over his shoulder to RICHARD and JACKIE_) Tea will be here soon. [_He and MYRA go off._ JACKIE: Well! RICHARD: A strange young man. JACKIE: Very rude, I think. RICHARD: Have you ever met him before? JACKIE: No; I don’t know any of them except Mr. Bliss—he’s a wonderful person. RICHARD: I wonder if he knows you’re here. JACKIE: Perhaps that funny woman who opened the door will tell him. RICHARD: It was fortunate that we met at the station. JACKIE: I’m frightfully glad. I should have been terrified arriving all by myself. RICHARD: I do hope the weather will keep good over Sunday—the country round here is delightful. JACKIE: Yes. RICHARD: There’s nowhere like England in the spring and summer. JACKIE: No, there isn’t, is there? RICHARD: There’s a sort of _quality_ you find in no other countries.