(Lynch lifts up her skirt and white petticoat with the wand. She settles them down quickly.) Respect yourself. (She hiccups, then bends quickly her sailor hat under which her hair glows, red with henna.) O, excuse!

ZOE: More limelight, Charley. (She goes to the chandelier and turns the gas full cock.)

KITTY: (Peers at the gasjet.) What ails it tonight?

LYNCH: (Deeply.) Enter a ghost and hobgoblins.

ZOE: Clap on the back for Zoe.

(The wand in Lynch’s hand flashes: a brass poker.

Stephen stands at the pianola on which sprawl his hat and ashplant. With two fingers he repeats once more the series of empty