_Harold._ Oh! some little time. They are awfully keen to see my book. I am going to take--send them a copy. You see I must be civil to these people, they know such an awful lot of the right sort; and their recommendation of a book will have more weight than fifty advertis.e.m.e.nts. So good-bye. [_Takes his overcoat._]

_Lucy._ Let me help you. But you are going without noticing my flowers.

_Harold._ I have been admiring them all along, except when I was looking at you.

_Lucy._ Don't be silly.

_Harold._ They are charming. Sir Humphrey has some orchids just the same colours; you ought to see them; he has basketsful sent up every week from his place in Surrey.

_Lucy._ No wonder my poor little chrysanthemums didn't impress you.

_Harold._ What nonsense! I would give more for one little flower from you, than for the contents of all his conservatories.

_Lucy._ Then you shall have that for nothing.

_Harold._ Don't, it will destroy the bunch.

_Lucy._ What does that matter? they are all yours.

_Harold._ You do your best to spoil me.

_Lucy._ [_Pins the flower into his b.u.t.ton-hole._] Don't talk nonsense.

There!

_Harold._ What a swell you have made me look!

_Lucy._ Good-bye; when shall I see you again?

_Harold._ Not until Sunday, I am afraid; I am so busy just now. But I'll come round early, and, if fine, we'll go and lunch at Richmond, and have a good walk across the Park afterwards. Would you like it?

_Lucy._ Above all things, but--but don't spend all your money on me.

_Harold._ Bother the money! I am going to be rich. Good-bye till Sunday.

_Lucy._ _Au revoir_; and while you are dining in your grand house, with lots of grand people, I am going to enjoy a delightful evening here, not alone, as I shall have your book for company. Good-bye.

Six Months elapse between Scene I. and Scene II.

Scene II--The Scene and Persons are the same

Lucy _is dressed as before; she is seated_. Harold _is in evening dress, with a flower in his b.u.t.ton-hole; he stands by the fireplace_.

_Harold._ Well, all I have to say is, I think you are most unreasonable.

_Lucy._ You have no right to say that.

_Harold._ I have if I think it.

_Lucy._ Well, you have no right to think it.

_Harold._ My thoughts are not my own, I suppose?

_Lucy._ They are so different from what I should have expected you to have that I almost doubt it.

_Harold._ Better say I have changed at once.

_Lucy._ And so you have.

_Harold._ Who is saying things one has no right to say now?

_Lucy._ I am only saying what I think.

_Harold._ Then if you want to have the right to your own thoughts, kindly let me have the right to mine. [_Walks to the window._] I can't prevent people sending me invitations, can I?

_Lucy._ You need not accept them.

_Harold._ And make enemies right and left, I suppose?

_Lucy._ I don't want you to do that, and I don't want either to prevent your enjoying yourself; but--but, I do want to see you occasionally.

_Harold._ And so you do.

_Lucy._ Yes, very--perhaps I should say I want to see you often.

_Harold._ And so do I you, but I can't be in two places at once. This is what I mean when I say you are unreasonable. I must go out. If I am to write, I must study people, character, scenes. I can't do that by stopping at home: I can't do that by coming here; I know you and I know your landlady, and there is n.o.body else in the house, except the slavey and the cat; and although the slavey may be a very excellent servant and the cat a most original quadruped, still, I don't want to make elaborate studies of animals--either four-legged or two. One would imagine, from the way you talk, that I did nothing except enjoy myself. I only go out in the evenings.

_Lucy._ Still you might spare a little time, now and then, to come and see me, if only for half an hour.

_Harold._ What am I doing now? I gave up a dinner-party to come here to-night.

_Lucy._ Do you know it is exactly a month yesterday since you were here last?

_Harold._ I can't be always dangling at your ap.r.o.n-strings.

_Lucy._ Harold!

_Harold._ If we are going to be married, we----

_Lucy._ If?

_Harold._ Well, when, if you like it better; we shall see enough of one another then. I have written to you, it isn't as though I hadn't done that.

_Lucy._ But that is not the same thing as seeing you; and your letters, too, have been so sc.r.a.ppy. [Harold _throws himself into the arm-chair_.]

They used to be so different before your book came out.

_Harold._ I had more time then.