He is not a bad man, and mother has behaved magnificently.'
COLONEL, cleverly, 'Ha.'
AMY. 'You must not, you shall not, be cruel to her.'
ALICE. 'Darling Amy.'
COLONEL, truculently, 'Oh, mustn't I. We shall see about that.'
STEVE. 'Come, come, Colonel.'
COLONEL, doing better than might have been expected, 'Hold your tongue, sir.'
AMY. 'I know mother as no other person can know her. I begin to think that you have no proper appreciation of her, father.'
ALICE, basely, 'Dear, dear Amy.'
AMY. 'I daresay she has often suffered in the past--'
ALICE. 'Oh, Amy, oh.'
AMY. 'By your--your callousness--your want of sympathy--your neglect.'
ALICE. 'My beloved child.'
COLONEL, uneasily, 'Alice, tell her it isn't so.'
ALICE. 'You hear what he says, my pet.'
AMY. 'But you don't deny it.'
COLONEL. 'Deny it, woman.'
ALICE. 'Robert, Robert.'
AMY. 'And please not to call my mother "woman" in my presence.'
COLONEL. 'I--I--I----' He looks for help from Alice, but she gives him only a twinkle of triumph. He barks, 'Child, go to your room.'
AMY, her worst fears returning, 'But what are you going to do?'
COLONEL. 'That is not your affair.' STEVE. 'I must say I don't see that.'
AMY, gratefully, 'Thank you, Mr. Rollo.' COLONEL. 'Go to your room.'
She has to go, but not till she has given her mother a kiss that is a challenge to the world. Then to the bewilderment of Steve two human frames are rocked with laughter.
ALICE. 'Oh, Robert, look at him. He thinks I worship him.'
COLONEL. 'Steve, you colossal puppy.'
STEVE. 'Eh--what--why?'
ALICE. 'Steve, tell Robert about my voice being softer to you than to other men; tell him, Steve, about your eyes.'
The unhappy youth gropes mentally and physically.
STEVE. 'Good heavens, was there nothing in it?'
COLONEL. 'My boy, I'll never let you hear the end of this.'
STEVE. 'But if there's nothing in it, how could your daughter have thought--'
COLONEL. 'She saw you kiss Alice here this afternoon, you scoundrel, and, as she thought, make an assignation with you. There, it all came out of that. She is a sentimental lady, is our Amy, and she has been too often to the theatre.'
STEVE. 'Let me think.'
COLONEL. 'Here is a chair for the very purpose. Now, think hard.'
STEVE. 'But--but--then why did you pretend before her, Alice?'
ALICE. 'Because she thinks that she has saved me, and it makes her so happy. Amy has a passionate desire to be of some use in this world she knows so well, and she already sees her sphere, Steve, it is to look after me. I am not to be her chaperone, it is she who is to be mine. I have submitted, you see.'
COLONEL, fidgeting, 'She seems to have quite given me up for you.'
ALICE, blandly, 'Oh yes, Robert, quite.'
STEVE, gloomily, 'You will excuse my thinking only of myself. What an ass I've been.'
ALICE. 'Is it a blow, Steve?'
STEVE. 'It's a come down. Ass, ass, ass! But I say, Alice, I'm awfully glad it's I who have been the ass and not you. I really am, Colonel. You see the tragedy of my life is I'm such an extraordinarily ordinary sort of fellow that, though every man I know says some lady has loved him, there never in all my unromantic life was a woman who cared a Christmas card for me. It often makes me lonely; and so when I thought such a glorious woman as you, Alice--I lost touch of earth altogether; but now I've fallen back on it with a whack. But I'm glad--yes, I'm glad. You two kindest people Steve Rollo has ever known.--Oh, I say good-night. I suppose you can't overlook it, Alice.'
ALICE. 'Oh, yes, you goose, I can. We are both fond of you--Mr. Rollo.'
COLONEL. 'Come in, my boy, and make love to me as often as you feel lonely.'
STEVE. 'I may still come to see you? I say, I'm awfully taken with your Amy.'
COLONEL. 'None of that, Steve.'
ALICE, 'We, can drop in on you on the sly, Steve, to admire your orbs; but you mustn't come here--until Amy thinks it is safe for me.' When he has gone she adds, 'Until I think it is safe for Amy.'
COLONEL.