THeReSE. You say you have experience; that only means you know about the past better than we do. But we know much better than you do about the present.

FeLIAT. I think those girls there are playing a dangerous game.

THeReSE. You needn't have the smallest anxiety about them.

FeLIAT. That way of going on might get them into great trouble.

THeReSE. It won't, I a.s.sure you. Monsieur Feliat, believe me, you know nothing about it.

LUCIENNE. We're clever enough to be able to take care of ourselves.

FeLIAT. But there are certain things that take you by storm.

LUCIENNE. Not us. Flirting is an amus.e.m.e.nt, a distraction, a game.

THeReSE. Shall we say a safety valve?

LUCIENNE. There's not a single one of us who doesn't understand the importance of running straight. And, to do them justice, these boys have no idea of tempting us to do anything else. What they want, what we all really want, is a quite conventional, satisfactory marriage.

FeLIAT. I most heartily approve; but in my days so much wisdom didn't usually come from such fascinating little mouths.

THeReSE. Now how can you blame us when you see that really we think exactly as you do yourself?

FeLIAT. In my days girls went neither to the Lycee nor to have gymnastic lessons, and they were none the less straight.

LUCIENNE [_reflectively_] And yet they grew up into the women of to-day.

I get educated and try to keep myself healthy, with exercises and things, because I want to develop morally and physically, and be fit to marry a man a little bit out of the ordinary either in fortune or brains.

THeReSE. You see our whole lives depend upon the man we marry.

FeLIAT. I seem to have heard that before.

LUCIENNE. Yes; so've I. But it's none the less true for that.

THeReSE. Isn't it funny that we seem to be saying the most shocking things when we're only repeating what our grandfathers and grandmothers preached to their children?

LUCIENNE. They were quite right. Love doesn't make happiness by itself.

One has to consider the future. We do consider it; in fact we do nothing else but consider it. We want to get the best position for ourselves in the future that we possibly can. We're not giddy little fools, and we're not selfish egotists. We want our children to grow up happy and capable as we've done ourselves. We're really quite reasonable.

FeLIAT [_hardly able to contain himself_] You are; indeed you are. It makes one shudder. Excuse me, I'm going to supper.

LUCIENNE. Let's all go together.

FeLIAT. Thanks, I can find my way.

LUCIENNE. It's down that pa.s.sage to the right.

FeLIAT. Yes, I shall find it, thank you.

_He goes out._

THeReSE. You shocked the poor old boy.

LUCIENNE. I only flavored the truth just enough to make it tasty. But I've something frightfully important to tell you. It's settled.

THeReSE. What's settled?

LUCIENNE. I'm engaged.

THeReSE. You don't say so.

LUCIENNE. It's done. Armand has been to his people and they've come to see mine. So I needn't play any more piano, nor sing any more sentimental songs; I needn't be clever any more, nor flirt any more, nor languish at young men any more. And how do you suppose it was settled?

Just what one wouldn't have ever expected. You know my people were doing all they could to dress me up, and show me off, and seem to be richer than they are, so as to attract the men. On my side I was giving myself the smartest of airs and pretending to despise money and to think of nothing but making a splash. Everything went quite differently from what I expected. I wanted to attract Armand, and I was only frightening him off. He thought such a woman as I was pretending to be too expensive. It was just through a chance conversation, some sudden confidence on my part, that he found out that I really like quite simple things. He was delighted, and he proposed at once.

THeReSE. Dear Lucienne, I'm so glad. I hope you'll be very, very happy.

LUCIENNE. Ah, that's another story. Armand is not by any means perfect.

But what can one do? The important thing is to marry, isn't it?

THeReSE. Of course. Well, if your engagement is on, mine's off.

LUCIENNE. Therese! Why I've just been talking to Rene. I never saw him so happy, nor so much in love.

THeReSE. He doesn't know yet. Or perhaps they're telling him now.

LUCIENNE. Telling him what?

THeReSE. I've lost all my money, my dear.

LUCIENNE. Lost all your money!

THeReSE. Yes. The lawyer who had my securities has gone off with them.

LUCIENNE. When?

THeReSE. I heard about it the day before yesterday. G.o.dpapa and G.o.dmamma were so awfully good they never said anything to me about it, though they're losing a lot of money too. They thought I hadn't heard, and I expect they wanted me to have this last evening's fun. I said nothing, and so n.o.body knows anything except you, now, and probably Rene.

LUCIENNE. What will you do?

THeReSE. What can I do? It's impossible for him to marry me without a penny. Of course I shall release him from his promise.

LUCIENNE. You think he'll give you up?

THeReSE. His people will make him. If they cut off his allowance, he'll be at their mercy. He earns about twenty dollars a month in that lawyer's office. So, you see--

LUCIENNE. Oh! poor Therese! And you could play Barberine with a secret like that!

THeReSE [_sadly_] I've had a real bad time since I heard. It's awful at night!