JOYCE. You are a silly ass. (_Picks up magazine._) SYLVIA. It's all very well to go on fooling Bobbie, but _really_ we shall have to pull ourselves together a bit. Mother's very worried, as you know, money troubles are perfectly beastly, and she hasn't told us nearly all. I do so hate her to be upset, poor darling. BOBBIE. What can we do? (_Sits_ L. _end of Chesterfield._ JOYCE _puts down magazine and listens._) SYLVIA. Think of a way to make money. BOBBIE. It's difficult now that the war is over. SYLVIA. That's cheap wit, dear; also it's the wrong moment for it. (JOYCE _giggles._) BOBBIE. It's always the wrong moment for cheap wit, admitting for one moment that it was, which it wasn't. JOYCE. Oh, do shut up, you make my head go round. (_Enter_ EVANGELINE _downstairs; she is tall and almost beautiful; she carries a book in her hand._) BOBBIE (_turning_). Oh, Vangy, do come and join us; we're on the verge of a congress. EVANGELINE. I must read some more Maeterlinck. (_Posing._) BOBBIE. You mean you must let us see you reading Maeterlinck. EVANGELINE (_goes to him, back of Chesterfield, touches his hair._) Try not to be so irritating, Bobbie dear; just because you don't happen to appreciate good literature, it's very small and narrow to laugh at people who do. SYLVIA. But seriously, Vangy, we are rather worried (EVANGELINE _moves_) about mother; she's been looking harassed for days. EVANGELINE (_sitting in armchair_). What about? SYLVIA. Money, money, money! Haven't you realized that! Uncle Daniel sent a pretty substantial cheque from South America (_all nod_) that helped things on a bit after Father's death, but that must be gone by now--and mother won't say how much father left. JOYCE. Perhaps she doesn't know. BOBBIE. She must know now, he's been dead nearly six months--inconsiderate old beast! SYLVIA. Bobbie, you're not to talk about father like that. I won't have it; after all---- BOBBIE. After all what?--He was perfectly rotten to mother, and never came near her for four years before his death. Why should we be charming and reverent about him just because he's our father. When I saw him I hated him, and his treatment of mum hasn't made me like him any better, I can tell you. EVANGELINE. But still, Bobbie, he was _our father_, and mother was fond of him--(BOBBIE. Ha!)--once, anyhow there's nothing to be gained by running him down. SYLVIA. The point is, have we enough money to keep on as we are, or haven't we? JOYCE (_quickly_). The only one who knows is mother, and she won't say. SYLVIA. We haven't asked her yet; we'll make her say. Where is she? BOBBIE. Up in her room, I think. SYLVIA. Go and fetch her down. (_Puts sewing on form._) BOBBIE. What, now? SYLVIA. Yes, _now_. BOBBIE. Oh, no! SYLVIA AND EVANGELINE. Yes, go along. BOBBIE. Righto! we'll tackle her straight away. (_Exit_ BOBBIE _upstairs._) JOYCE (_goes to_ EVANGELINE). Do--do you think we may have to leave this house?