FARADAY. Get some vinegar.

(AUNT IDA _whoops_.)

EVELYN. No, smelling salts.

(AUNT IDA _whoops_.)

TARVER. (_Rising_) Oh, hold it upside down!

FARADAY. Nonsense, that's for drowning.

TARVER. Here, I know a remedy.

(MADGE _takes_ TARVER'S _place at_ L. _of choir and_ TARVER _goes up above chair, gets spray from table, leans over_ AUNT IDA'S _shoulder and sprays her forehead_.)

SMITH. (_Comes down_ C.) Slap her hands hard. That always brings them to.

(PHYLLIS _and_ MADGE _slap_ AUNT IDA'S _hands vigorously_.)

AUNT IDA. (_Pushing them away_) It doesn't do anything of the kind.

(MADGE _goes_ L.C. _and helps_ EVELYN _on with evening wraps_.)

SMITH. There, what did I tell you? (_Goes up stage and to table_ L.)

(TARVER _goes_ R. _above sofa_. PHYLLIS _goes_ R. _between sofa and fender_.)

AUNT IDA. (_Rises weakly_) Oh--oh--oh--oh--oh--oh! This must be broken to Celia.

FARADAY. (_Going up and getting his coat and hat from piano stool_) Celia already knows.

PHYLLIS. (_Pouting_) She and Colonel Vavasour are going to stay home and dine together. (_Goes up to_ TARVER _and talks_.)

AUNT IDA. (_Gasping_) Dine together!! And discuss S-S-Smith!! (CELIA _enters in mourning--black shawl and dress--door_ R.I. _She closes door, comes a few steps on stage and stands with folded hands and downcast eyes_. AUNT IDA _is now thoroughly bewildered_.) Celia, you're in black! (_Waves her hand up and down weakly_.)

CELIA. Yes, dear. I made a mistake when I said I shouldn't allow this news to interfere. I was wrong. Colonel Vavasour has shown me how deeply he was grieved by my neglect of the trappings of distress.

(NOTE: _The bodice of the black dress_ CELIA _wears, which is completely hidden by the black shawl, should be of some bright color, to be disclosed in Act III_.)

AUNT IDA. (_With a long wail_) Will somebody pinch me, please?

(_Sits_.)

TARVER. (_Coming to foot of sofa and kneeling_) Let me do it for you, won't you?

(MARTIN _enters through_ L.I _with army list on tray. Comes to_ FARADAY.)

AUNT IDA. Certainly not.

TARVER. (_Rising and going back to head of sofa_) So sorry.

MARTIN. The wagonette is at the door, sir.

(EVELYN _and_ MADGE _cross to door_ L., _bidding goodnight to_ COLONEL SMITH, _and exit_.)

FARADAY. Very well, what have you got there, Martin?

MARTIN. Another army list, sir.

SMITH. (_Above table_ L.C. _Seeing army list_) Oh, d.a.m.n!

FARADAY. All right. Put it on the table. (MARTIN _puts army list on table, crosses_ R. _and exits through morning room, turning on lights in morning room_.) Now then, off we go. (_Counting_) One, two, three, four. (_To_ PHYLLIS _and_ TARVER) No hanging behind, you two. (TARVER _and_ PHYLLIS _cross quickly_ L. _to door_.) Got your atlas, Tarver?

TARVER. Yes, sir.

(PHYLLIS _and_ TARVER _exit, nodding good-night to_ COLONEL SMITH.)

FARADAY. Then off we go. (_Coming down to_ AUNT IDA'S _chair, helping her up and supporting her_. AUNT IDA, _who is now in a thoroughly demoralised condition, weakly and brokenly emits little gasps. The feathers in her hair have fallen over one eye. She also shows other traces of her recent fit_. FARADAY _lifts her up, puts his arm around her waist and leads her across the stage_, FARADAY _above her_. CELIA _follows her as far as chair_ R. _of table_ L., _where she remains_.) Come along, Ida. This has been a little too much for you. Nothing like fresh air for an attack like yours. You will be all right when you get out in the fresh air. (AUNT IDA _crosses with him quickly, but haltingly, still emitting little gasps. When she gets almost to the door, she looks back at_ CELIA'S _dress, and with a final burst, exits_. FARADAY _at door_) My daughter will appreciate these quiet, I may say, these holy hours--with you, Colonel Vavasour.

SMITH. (_Comes down_ L.C.) I appreciate them, sir.

(FARADAY _exits_ L.IE., _closing door after him_. MARTIN _enters through morning room_.)

MARTIN. Dinner is served. Miss. (_Exits through morning room_.)

(_Clock off_ L., _upper, chimes eight_.)