Act I
Scene: The hall of David Bliss’s house is very comfortable and extremely untidy. There are several of Simon’s cartoons scattered about the walls, masses of highly coloured American and classical music strewn about the piano, and lots of flowers and comfortable furniture. A staircase ascends to a small balcony leading to the bedrooms, David’s study and Simon’s room. There is a door leading to the library down R. A service door above it under the stairs. There are French windows at back, and the front door on the L.
When the curtain rises it is about three o’clock on a Saturday afternoon in June.
Simon, in an extremely dirty tennis shirt and baggy grey flannel trousers, is crouched in the middle of the floor, cutting out squares from cartridge paper.
Sorel, more neatly dressed, is stretched on the sofa, reading a very violently bound volume of poems which have been sent to her by an aspiring friend.
Sorel
Listen to this, Simon. She reads. “Love’s a Trollop stained with wine—Clawing at the breasts of Adolescence—Nuzzling, tearing, shrieking, beating—God, why were we fashioned so!” She laughs.
Simon
The poor girl’s potty.
Sorel
I wish she hadn’t sent me the beastly book. I must say something nice about it.
Simon
The binding’s very dashing.
Sorel
She used to be such fun before she married that gloomy little man.
Simon
She was always a fierce poseuse. It’s so silly of people to try and cultivate the artistic temperament. Au fond she’s just a normal, bouncing Englishwoman.
Sorel
You didn’t shave this morning.
