ROSEMARY. What _is_ an autobiography?

JAMES. Well, I couldn't rightly say, Miss--not to explain it properly.

ROSEMARY (dismayed). Oh, James! . . . I thought you knew everything.

JAMES. In the ordinary way, yes, Miss, but every now and then----

ROSEMARY. It's very upsetting.

JAMES. Yes, Miss. . . . How would it be to write a play instead? Very
easy work, they tell me.

ROSEMARY (nodding). Yes, that's much better. I'll write a play. Thank
you, James.

JAMES. Not at all, Miss. [He goes out.

(ROSEMARY bites her pen, and thinks deeply. At last the inspiration
comes.)

ROSEMARY (as she writes). Make-Believe. M-a-k-e hyphen B-e-l---- (she
stops and frowns) Now which way _is_ it? (She tries it on the
blotting-paper) _That_ looks wrong. (She tries it again) So does that.
Oh, dear! (She rings the bell . . . JAMES returns.)

JAMES. Yes, Miss?

ROSEMARY. James, I have decided to call my play Make-Believe.