CLARA: _The Referee’s_ much better. (_She finds the place and hands it to SOREL._) SOREL (_reading_): “I saw gay and colourful Judith Bliss at the Waifs and Strays Matinée last week. She was talking vivaciously to Producer Basil Dean. ‘I’ sooth,’ said I to myself, ‘where ignorance is Bliss, ’tis folly to be wise.’” JUDITH (_taking it from her_): Dear _Referee_! It’s so unself-conscious. CLARA: If you want any more coffee, ring for it. (_She goes out._) SOREL (_sitting down_): I wish I were sitting on a lovely South Sea island, with masses of palm trees and cocoanuts and turtles—— JUDITH: It would be divine, wouldn’t it? SOREL: I wonder where everybody is? JUDITH (_still reading_): I wonder.... Mary Saunders has got another failure. SOREL: She must be used to it by now. [_SIMON comes downstairs with a rush._ SIMON (_kissing JUDITH_): Good morning, darling.—Look! (_He shows her a newly completed sketch._) JUDITH: Simon! How lovely! When did you do it? SIMON: This morning—I woke early. SOREL (_rising and craning over JUDITH’S shoulder_): Let’s see. SIMON (_over the other shoulder_): I’m going to alter Helen’s face; it’s too pink. SOREL (_laughing_): It’s exactly like her. JUDITH: What a clever son I have! SIMON: Now then, Mother! JUDITH: It’s too wonderful—when I think of you both in your perambulators.... Oh dear, it makes me cry! (_She sniffs._) SOREL: I don’t believe you ever saw us in our perambulators. JUDITH: I don’t believe I did. [_DAVID comes downstairs._ DAVID (_hilariously_): It’s finished! JUDITH: What, dear? DAVID: _The Sinful Woman._ JUDITH: How splendid. Read it to us now. DAVID: I’ve got the last chapter here. JUDITH: Go on, then. [_SANDY rushes in from the front door. On seeing everyone, he halts._ SANDY: Good morning. (_He bolts upstairs two at a time._) JUDITH: I seem to know that boy’s face. DAVID (_preparing to read_): Listen. You remember when Violet was taken ill in Paris? JUDITH: Yes, dear.—Marmalade, Simon. DAVID: Well, I’ll go on from there. JUDITH: Do, dear. DAVID (_reading_): “Paris in spring, with the Champs Elysées alive and dancing in the sunlight; lightly dressed children like gay painted butterflies——” SIMON (_whispering to SOREL_): What’s happened to the barometer? SOREL (_sibilantly_): I don’t know. DAVID: Damn the barometer! JUDITH: Don’t get cross, dear. DAVID: Why can’t you keep quiet, Simon, or go away! SIMON: Sorry, Father. DAVID: Well, don’t interrupt again.... (_Reading_) “... gay painted butterflies; the streets were thronged with hurrying vehicles, the thin peek-peek of taxi-hooters——” SOREL: I love “peek-peek.” DAVID (_ignoring her_): “——seemed to merge in with the other vivid noises weaving a vast pattern of sound which was Paris. Jane Sefton, in her scarlet Hispano, swept out of the Rue St. Honoré into the Place de la Concorde——” JUDITH: She couldn’t have. DAVID: Why? JUDITH: The Rue St. Honoré doesn’t lead into the Place de la Concorde.