Her search is less thorough than the maid's but there is a touch of fury in it, that quite makes up for its sketchiness.

She stumbles on the tulle and her "damn" is quite audible.
She retires, empty-handed.
More chatter outside and a girl's voice, a very spoiled voice, says: "Of all the stupid people--" After a pause a third seeker enters, not she of the spoiled voice, but a younger edition.

This is Cecelia Connage, sixteen, pretty, shrewd, and constitutionally good-humored.

She is dressed for the evening in a gown the obvious simplicity of which probably bores her.

She goes to the nearest pile, selects a small pink garment and holds it up appraisingly.
CECELIA: Pink?
ROSALIND: (Outside) Yes! CECELIA: _Very_ snappy?
ROSALIND: Yes! CECELIA: I've got it! (She sees herself in the mirror of the dressing-table and commences to shimmy enthusiastically.) ROSALIND: (Outside) What are you doing--trying it on?
(CECELIA ceases and goes out carrying the garment at the right shoulder.
From the other door, enters ALEC CONNAGE.