JOAN. [Following her sisters] The car's round. What's the matter?
DOT. Shut up!
SIR WILLIAM'S voice is heard from the corridor calling
"Dorothy!" As LADY CHESHIRE, passing her handkerchief over her
face, turns round, he enters. He is in full hunting dress:
well-weathered pink, buckskins, and mahogany tops.
SIR WILLIAM. Just off, my dear. [To his daughters, genially]
Rehearsin'? What! [He goes up to FREDA holding out his gloved right
hand] Button that for me, Freda, would you? It's a bit stiff!
FREDA buttons the glove: LADY CHESHIRE and the girls watching
in hypnotic silence.
SIR WILLIAM. Thank you! "Balmy as May"; scent ought to be
first-rate. [To LADY CHESHIRE] Good-bye, my dear! Sampson's Gorse
--best day of the whole year. [He pats JOAN on the shoulder] Wish
you were cumin' out, Joan.
He goes out, leaving the door open, and as his footsteps and the
chink of his spurs die away, FREDA turns and rushes into the
workroom.
CHRISTINE. Mother! What----?
But LADY CHESHIRE waves the question aside, passes her daughter,
and goes out into the corridor.
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