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The Débutante
ROSALIND:Thatwasoneofthoseromantic,pre-battleaffairs.They’reallwrong.
MRS.CONNAGE:(Hersaysaid)Atanyrate,makeusproudofyouto-night.
ROSALIND:Don’tyouthinkI’mbeautiful?
MRS.CONNAGE:Youknowyouare.
(Fromdown-stairsisheardthemoanofaviolinbeingtuned,therollofadrum.MRS.CONNAGEturnsquicklytoherdaughter.)
MRS.CONNAGE:Come!
ROSALIND:Oneminute!
(Hermotherleaves.ROSALINDgoestotheglasswhereshegazesatherselfwithgreatsatisfaction.Shekissesherhandandtoucheshermirroredmouthwithit.Thensheturnsoutthelightsandleavestheroom.Silenceforamoment.Afewchordsfromthepiano,thediscreetpatteroffaintdrums,therustleofnewsilk,allblendonthestaircaseoutsideanddriftinthroughthepartlyopeneddoor.Bundledfigurespassinthelightedhall.Thelaughterheardbelowbecomesdoubledandmultiplied.Thensomeonecomesin,closesthedoor,andswitchesonthelights.ItisCECELIA.Shegoestothechiffonier,looksinthedrawers,hesitates—thentothedeskwhenceshetakesthecigarette-caseandextractsone.Shelightsitandthen,puffingandblowing,walkstowardthemirror.)
CECELIA:(Intremendouslysophisticatedaccents)Oh,yes,comingoutissuchafarcenowadays,youknow.Onereallyplaysaroundsomuchbeforeoneisseventeen,thatit’spositivelyanticlimax.(Shakinghandswithavisionarymiddle-agednobleman.)Yes,yourgrace—Ib’lieveI’veheardmysisterspeakofyou.Haveapuff—they’reverygood.They’re—they’reCoronas.
