MRS. DERMOTT. Now then, shall we all go out into the garden? Oliver and Vangy are somewhere about. We always sit under the big cedar in the afternoons. It's so beautifully shady. MRS. CROMBIE (_walking towards door with_ MRS. DERMOTT). I envy you your garden so much, Mrs. Dermott. I have about two rose bushes and a tennis net. Faith insists on that. MRS. DERMOTT. You're lucky even to have a small garden in London. MRS. CROMBIE (_as they go off_). Yes, I suppose we are, you see... (_Exeunt to garden._) FAITH. Come on, Bobbie. (_Coming_ C.) BOBBIE. No, stay here and talk to me. (_Goes to her and takes her hand._) FAITH. Mother will only come back and fetch me. BOBBIE. No, she won't. They're both jawing quite happily. I have been so looking forward to to-day. FAITH. So have I. BOBBIE. I was terrified that you'd wire or something to say you couldn't come. FAITH. Silly Bobbie. BOBBIE. Do you realize it's a whole week since I've seen you. (_Dropping her hand._) I've got something for you. FAITH (_eagerly_). What is it? BOBBIE. A song. FAITH (_without enthusiasm_). Oh. BOBBIE. Shall I play it? FAITH (_moves to_ R. _of table._) Yes, do. (_Enter_ JOYCE _downstairs._) BOBBIE. Damn. JOYCE. Hullo, Faith, how are you? (_They kiss._) Come and play a single with me. BOBBIE (_at piano_). Oh, do go away, Joyce. I'm just going to play her a song--her song. FAITH. My song? (_Sits_ R. _of table._) BOBBIE. I wrote it specially for her. JOYCE. Aren't you lucky? Well, come out presently when you feel you're rhapsodized enough. (_Crosses to corridor._) BOBBIE. Oh, do shut up, Joy, and go away. (BOBBIE _starts to play._) JOYCE. All right, keep calm. (_Exits and re-enter._) Have you seen my racquet? BOBBIE. No. JOYCE. Oh, thanks, dear, for your kind help. Sorry I came in at the wrong moment. (_Exit_ JOYCE _brightly._) BOBBIE. Young sisters are a nuisance sometimes. FAITH (_giggling_). They must be. BOBBIE. Listen... (FAITH _reads magazine and takes no notice of song. He plays and sings a short love song._) BOBBIE. There! Do you like it. FAITH (_putting magazine down--ecstatically_). Oh, Bobbie, that's simply too sweet for words. It has a something about it--did you really write it for me? BOBBIE (_ardently_). Every note. (BOBBIE _plays a well-known and hackneyed song._) FAITH. Bobbie! that's wonderful! Wonderful!! It's the best you've ever done. Now I _know_ you are clever. BOBBIE (_coming_ C.). Yes! but I didn't write that one. FAITH (_goes to him_). Oh! didn't you. Well, I know you would if you had thought of it--but never mind---- FAITH. Can you play the Indian Love Lyrics--I never get tired of them! BOBBIE. I don't want to play any more, I want to talk to you. FAITH. What shall we talk about? BOBBIE. I could tell you such wonderful things--but I don't know whether you would understand. FAITH (_pouting girlishly_). That's not very polite. (_Coming down between armchair and Chesterfield._)