Godfrey (coldly). Yes?
Eve. I must have used some particularly unfortunate mode of expression in making my request of Mr. Hemingway. He seems to think that I meant something—er—entirely different.
Godfrey. A mistake would be unfortunate, certainly.
Eve (still looking at the letter). I don't understand it—Arthur Hemingway!
Godfrey. Precisely; Arthur Hemingway! In my opinion that explains it.
Eve. And he will call later in the day. [Hesitatingly.] Perhaps, under the circumstances, I ought to ask your advice.
Godfrey. Oh, I could hardly presume to pronounce upon so delicate a question. I am well aware that people never ask for advice until they have made up their minds not to take it.
Eve. Well, I dare say that I am capable of managing my own affairs. I hope, though, that he will defer his call until papa has gone. It might be a little awkward.
Godfrey. Quite so.
Eve (walking restlessly to window). It is really most inconsiderate of Arthur. There's a cab stopping at the door now! It is papa! He is getting out! [Turning.] Why—
Godfrey (pulling out watch). Four o'clock! I had no idea—the clock must have been slow.
Eve (coming down). Oh, papa will not mind.
Godfrey. It was very forgetful of me. [With a hasty look around.] At least everything is in place—we are quite ready?
Eve. Everything. Perhaps, though—
Eve. Quick! He is coming. [She seizes a small hand-broom and sweeps the pieces under the rug.] Now one of your gloves for my work-basket.
Godfrey (tossing it to her). You are indeed an artist.
Eve. Hush!
Wallis (announcing). Mr. Rivers.
Eve (looking up). "Papa!
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"Foolish Children!"
Godfrey. Mr. Rivers, I owe you a thousand apologies. My watch must have been wrong—I had the carriage in waiting.
Mr. Rivers (kissing Eve). Honeymoon time, I dare say; it always runs slow for the rest of the world. [Shaking hands with Godfrey.] Nonsense! My boy, it is Eve who owes the apology, if anybody does. "The woman beguiled me, and I did wait"—wasn't that it? [Taking a hand of each and looking at them affectionately.] My dear, dear children!
Eve (gayly). Now, papa, you mustn't grow sentimental—we never allow that any more. [Leading him over to sofa.] Let Goff take your coat. [She makes him sit down.] Positively you look
