She moves to take the epergne from BUBBA and set it aside, while OLIVE’s voice continues singing offstage.

I wouldn’t even trust ’em with my decent crockery. Stuff that they’re to use is on the tray there—with the cutlery.

BUBBA fetches the tray to the table, and starts setting plates and cutlery.

BUBBA: What about the pianner?

EMMA: With Olive playin’? Not a hope. I got it locked already. And somethin’ else.

She moves to rescue an ornamental figure from a mantelshelf.

I lost the mate to this the last time they went through their hoops.

She puts the figure away as OLIVE’s singing offstage is interrupted by the crash of some domestic mishap. OLIVE squeals and NANCY’s voice is heard in alarm.

NANCY: Watch it.

OLIVE: Oh hell—who’s a Dirty Gertie? Sorry—

EMMA moves to call towards the hallway.

EMMA: Know you’re goin’ to have to leave that kitchen spotless, don’t you?

OLIVE: [gaiety undimmed, but her singing at an end] And pay for any damages—we know.

EMMA returns to set a pile of discarded music to the piano top.

EMMA: One of them real old-fashioned nights—sooner you get home, the better.

BUBBA: Olive’s promised I can stay until the boys change back to civvies. See them out of uniform.

EMMA: If they look as silly as most fellers in the clothes they get with their discharge. Percy Spender suits, and—

BUBBA: You are glad they are gettin’ out, though, aren’t you?

EMMA snorts.

I mean, they came through, and everythin’?

EMMA: What silly sort of question’s that?

BUBBA: I dunno. [Her table setting done] Just Auntie Dee said once, the war could settle lots of problems, somebody like you.

EMMA: Your auntie Dee was talkin’ nonsense. ’Course I’m glad they got through.

BUBBA, relieved at her answer, moves swiftly to kiss EMMA’s cheek, before turning back to consider final touches for the table, while EMMA rises above any suggestion of sentimentality.

Bein’ demobbed, of course, is somethin’ else again. Two of them’ll be back to their old tricks in no time. Won’t pretend I’m glad of that.

BUBBA: [fetching it from somewhere] How about this cruet?

EMMA: That? That’s real crystal.

BUBBA: [starting to go] I’ll get the one from out the kitchen—

EMMA: No.

Caught by the occasion, EMMA comes to a momentous decision.

No. What’s it matter? Let ’em have it, who cares? And while we’re at it, they can have the epergne as well.

She moves to retrieve the epergne and take it to the table, where she sets it up in a central position, pride of place.

I’ve done me dash with this stuff. Up to Olive from now on—if she hasn’t the sense to look after things—

An approving touch of the epergne, and she moves about, assessing the room.