[Hard again.] Which way is it to be?

Parbury.

[Firmly.] My way, dear.

[Goes up C. to fireplace.

Mrs. Parbury.

[Alone, C.] Good heavens! He'll really let me go. [Hesitates for a moment, then draws herself up.] Come, father.

Colonel.

Good-night, Mr. Gunning. Good-night, Clement.

Parbury and Gunning.

Good-night, Colonel.

[Exeunt Mrs. Parbury and the Colonel.

Parbury.

[Comes down, a little astonished.] By Jove, she's really going!

[Gunning sits. Parbury stands C., listening. Pause. Then there is the noise of a carriage door being shut.

Evans.

[Outside.] Home!

[Parbury somewhat unsteadily lights a cigarette. He then catches Gunning's eye. They look at each other.

Slow Curtain.

END OF ACT II.

ACT III.

Scene.-The Rose Garden at Parbury's house. A garden table, seat, and chairs. The next morning.

[Enter Miss Woodward. She is dressed simply, but less severely than before. Her hair is dressed more loosely. She carries a little basket full of roses. She places some roses upon the table, which is laid for two for breakfast. She plucks more roses and fastens them in her dress. Meanwhile she hums an air and conveys the impression of being happier than in the previous Acts.]

[Enter Gunning, R. He wears a light morning suit, a round hat and brown boots, and carries a stick and gloves.]

Gunning.

Good-morning, Miss Woodward.

Miss Woodward.

Good-morning.

[They shake hands.

Gunning.

Shall I resist the temptation to pay you a compliment?

Miss Woodward.

[Gathering more roses.] Yes, please.

Gunning.

I thought you would say so. All the same, I feel it to be a deprivation.

Miss Woodward.

Isn't that remark itself the cloven foot of compliment?

Gunning.

Eh-well, perhaps it is. I'm sorry.

Miss Woodward.

And therefore unlike you.

Gunning.

Unlike me? What does that mean?

Miss Woodward.

That it isn't much in your way to pay women compliments.

Gunning.

I hope you are doing me an injustice.

Miss Woodward.

I don't think so. You haven't a very lofty opinion of women as a s.e.x, have you?

Gunning.

Pretty well-pretty well; but what makes you think so?

Miss Woodward.

I heard you talk, you know, yesterday afternoon.

Gunning.

Oh yes; one does talk a lot of rot sometimes, doesn't one?

Miss Woodward.

Yes.

[Embarra.s.sed pause.

Gunning.

Is Mr. Parbury down yet?

Miss Woodward.

No. But he is sure to be in a few minutes. He is generally early. Breakfast, as you see, will be served here. Perhaps-perhaps you would rather wait indoors.

Gunning.

No; I'll stay here if I may. . . . I'm afraid we made rather a late night of it.

[He sits.

Miss Woodward.

Really?

Gunning.

Three o'clock.

Miss Woodward.

You had much to talk of. I envy people with pleasant memories.

Gunning.

I don't remember that we talked much of old times. I think we talked of the present.

Miss Woodward.

[Rather hardly.] Then my envy has flown.

Gunning.

You are right. This affair is rather boring.

Miss Woodward.

[Innocently.] What affair, Mr. Gunning?

Gunning.

Miss Woodward, you are a triumph of the inscrutable.

Miss Woodward.

[Leaning on chair, L.C.] I'm sure that is very clever, because I can't quite understand it.

Gunning.

Quite seriously, Miss Woodward, you interest me more than any person I have ever met.

Miss Woodward.

Do you always say that to girls, Mr. Gunning?

Gunning.

No. Why?

Miss Woodward.

You ought to. I'm sure it's very encouraging.

[She picks another rose.

Gunning.

[Doubtfully.] Ahem!

Miss Woodward.

Are you quite sure you wouldn't rather wait indoors?

Gunning.