SILVIA

Joe.

JOE

Um.

SILVIA

Joe!

JOE

Um—­um! (She walks over, draws his watch from his pocket and shows him the time)

SILVIA

It’s nearly four o’clock.

JOE

Just a minute—­the light’s fine, and I want to finish.

SILVIA

Yes, I know, but he may be here any minute.

JOE

Tea on?

SILVIA

Yes.

JOE

Well, that’ll keep him while I get ready.  That’s mostly what they came for, anyhow.

SILVIA

But he’s different.  He isn’t a Cook’s tourist—­

JOE

No, he’s a relative!

SILVIA

You wouldn’t say that if one of your family dropped in.  Besides, I’ve never even seen him.  And he’s something of a collector, Joe.  He buys pictures.

JOE

So I hear.  The last thing he bought was a Bougereau!

SILVIA

Well, he’s a relative ... and when he sees your last things!

JOE

Um....  There, it’s all done.

SILVIA

I’m crazy to see it, Joe, but run up and get ready. Sh! (A knock at the door.  Joe runs upstairs to the balcony.  Silvia opens the door and admits Mr. Wentworth, rather stout and with gold spectacles)

MR. WENTWORTH

Mrs. Carson?

SILVIA

Yes.  This is Mr. Wentworth?  Joe and I have been expecting you.  Let me take your coat.  The studio’s rather upset just now—­

MR. WENTWORTH

Delightful!  How I love the atmosphere of work in a studio!  I used to paint a bit myself, you know.

SILVIA

Did you?  Father never mentioned that.

MR. WENTWORTH

Oh, I guess everybody has forgotten it by now.  An early adventure with life!  Goodness only knows what might have happened, though, if the business hadn’t fallen on me to look out for.  I might have been a great artist.  Ha!