[_With a smile._] I never thought she did, darling.
DICKIE.
What!
[PENELOPE _giggles_.
DICKIE.
D’you mean to say you knew all the time that I’d invented her?
PENELOPE.
I thought it was very nice of you to make up a plausible excuse for
being away so much.
DICKIE.
Then, when you bought all those things because I was making such a pot
of money, you were just pulling my leg.
PENELOPE.
[_With a smile._] Well....
[DICKIE _suddenly bursts into a shout of laughter_.
DICKIE.
[_When he recovers._] I say, you have scored us off. Upon my soul, you
are a wonderful little woman. I can’t think how I ever saw anything in
Ada Fergusson.
PENELOPE.
Oh, but I think she’s charming.
DICKIE.
What nonsense! You know you don’t. If you only knew the life she led me!
PENELOPE.
I suppose she often asked you if you really loved her?
DICKIE.
Ten times a day.
PENELOPE.
And when you left her, did she want to know exactly at what time you’d
come back?
DICKIE.
How did you know?
PENELOPE.
I guessed it.
DICKIE.
[_Going towards her as if to take her in his arms._] Oh, Pen, let’s
forget and forgive.
PENELOPE.
[_Getting out of his way._] There’s nothing to forgive, darling.
DICKIE.
[_Making a step towards her._] I suppose you want me to eat the
dust.... I have behaved like a perfect brute. I’m awfully sorry, and
I’ll never do it again.
PENELOPE.
[_Eluding him as though by accident._] I daresay the game isn’t worth
the candle.
DICKIE.
[_Trying to intercept her._] Don’t speak of it.
PENELOPE.
[_Keeping out of his reach._] And I was under the impression you were
having such a good time.
DICKIE.
I was feeling awfully conscience-stricken.
PENELOPE.
That’s where women have such an advantage over men. Their conscience
never strikes them till they’ve lost their figure and their complexion.
DICKIE.
[_Stopping._] I say, what are you running round the room for in that
ridiculous fashion?
PENELOPE.
I thought we were playing touch-last.
DICKIE.
Don’t be a little beast, Pen. You know you love me, and I simply dote
upon you.... I can’t do more than I have done.
PENELOPE.
What d’you want me to do?
DICKIE.
I want you to kiss and make friends.
PENELOPE.
[_Quite good-naturedly._] I think you’re a little previous, aren’t you?
DICKIE.
I suppose you’re thinking of Ada Fergusson.
PENELOPE.
I confess she hadn’t entirely slipped my mind.
DICKIE.
Hang Ada Fergusson!
PENELOPE.
I think that’s rather drastic punishment. After all, she did nothing but
succumb to your fatal fascination.
DICKIE.
That’s right, put all the blame on me. As if it were men who made the
running on these occasions! I never want to see her again.
PENELOPE.
How changeable you are.
DICKIE.
[_Going towards her eagerly._] I’m never going to change again. I’ve had
my lesson, and I’m going to be good in future.
PENELOPE.
[_Getting a chair between herself and him._] Anyhow, don’t you think
you’d better be off with the old love before you get on with the new?
DICKIE.
Yes, but you might help me.
PENELOPE.
You don’t want me by any chance to tell Ada Fergusson that you don’t
care for her any more?
DICKIE.
It’s a devilish awkward thing to say oneself.
PENELOPE.
I can imagine that the best-tempered woman would take it a little
amiss.
DICKIE.
I say, can’t you suggest something to help me out?
PENELOPE.
[_With a shrug of the shoulders._] My dear, since the days of Ariadne
there’s only been one satisfactory way of consoling a deserted maiden.
DICKIE.
[_With a jump._] Uncle Davenport!
PENELOPE.
What about Uncle Davenport?
DICKIE.
He told me yesterday he thought she was a devilish fine woman.
PENELOPE.
Oh, no, Dickie, I’m not going to allow you to sacrifice my only uncle.
DICKIE.
I’ll just ring him up and tell him she’s not gone to Paris.
PENELOPE.
No, Dickie. No, Dickie. No, Dickie!
DICKIE.
[_At the telephone._] Mayfair 7521. I promise you he shall come to no
harm. Before it gets serious we’ll tell him that she’s not a Jones of
Llandudno, but a Jones of Notting Hill Gate.
PENELOPE.
[_With a giggle._] I don’t think it’s quite nice what you’re doing.
DICKIE.
I think it’s horrid. I shall blame myself very much afterwards.
PENELOPE.
With your moral sense too.
DICKIE.
Hulloa, can I speak to Mr. Barlow? Hulloa, is that you, Uncle Davenport?
No, I didn’t go to Paris after all. [_With a wink at_ PENELOPE.] Mrs.
Mack had a sudden relapse, and couldn’t be moved. No, Mrs. Fergusson
hasn’t gone either.
[PEYTON _comes in_.
PEYTON.
Mrs. Fergusson is in the drawing-room, ma’am.
DICKIE.
[_Speaking down the telephone._] What! Half a minute. Hold on.
PENELOPE.
I’ve been expecting her all the afternoon. Ask her if she wouldn’t mind
coming up here.
PEYTON.
Very well, ma’am.
[_Exit._
DICKIE.
I say, there’s no getting out of it. [_At the telephone._] Hulloa. Why
don’t you come round? Mrs. Fergusson is calling on Pen, and you can
arrange about your luncheon party then.... All right. Good-bye.... I
say, I’m going to bolt.
PENELOPE.
You coward!
DICKIE.
[_Pretending to be very dignified._] I’m not a coward, Penelope. I shall
be back in two minutes. But I’m thirsty, and I’m going to have a brandy
and soda.
[_He bends down to kiss her, but she moves away._
DICKIE.
I say, hang it all, you needn’t grudge me one kiss.
PENELOPE.
[_Smiling._] Wait till you’re off with the old love, my friend.
DICKIE.
I think it’s a bit thick that a man shouldn’t be allowed to embrace the
wife of his bosom.
PENELOPE.
You shall afterwards, if you’re good.
DICKIE.
I say, she’s just coming. What a blessing this room has two doors!
[_He goes out._ PENELOPE _gets up, looks at herself in the glass,
arranges a stray lock of hair, and powders her nose_. ADA FERGUSSON
_comes in_.
PENELOPE.
[_Kissing her effusively._] Dearest ... I hope you don’t mind being
dragged up here.
MRS. FERGUSSON.
Of course not. I like this room. I always think it’s just the place for
a heart-to-heart talk.
PENELOPE.
How nice you’re looking!
MRS. FERGUSSON.
D’you like my frock?
PENELOPE.
I always think it suits you so well.
MRS. FERGUSSON.
[_Acidly._] It is the first time I have put it on.
PENELOPE.
Oh, then I suppose I’ve seen one just like it on other people.
MRS. FERGUSSON.
You’ll think I’m coming here a great deal, dearest.
PENELOPE.
You know that Dickie and I are always glad to see you.
MRS. FERGUSSON.
Is Dr. O’Farrell at home? I wanted to ask him something about the
medicine he prescribed for me yesterday.
PENELOPE.
Now don’t say you’ve come to see Dickie. I was hoping you’d come to see
me.
MRS. FERGUSSON.
I wanted to kill two birds with one stone.
PENELOPE.
That is a feat of marksmanship which always gives one satisfaction.
MRS. FERGUSSON.
I forget if you said that Dr. O’Farrell was at home.
PENELOPE.
You know, I think you must be the only person who’s known him ten
minutes without calling him Dickie.
MRS. FERGUSSON.
I should have no confidence in him as a doctor if I did.
PENELOPE.
I never employ him myself. I always go to Dr. Rogers.
MRS. FERGUSSON.
You look as if you had robust health, dearest.
PENELOPE.
Oh, I just manage to trip along above ground to save funeral expenses.
MRS. FERGUSSON.
Is Dr. O’Farrell quite well?
PENELOPE.
Tired.
MRS. FERGUSSON.
[_Wondering why._] Oh?
[_A slight pause._
MRS. FERGUSSON.
I suppose you haven’t the least idea when he’ll be home?
PENELOPE.
I didn’t know he was out.
MRS. FERGUSSON.
Oh, I beg your pardon. I thought you said he was out.
PENELOPE.
No.
MRS. FERGUSSON.
I must have misunderstood you.
PENELOPE.
I think he’s lying down. You see he was with poor Mrs. Mack till twelve
o’clock last night.
MRS. FERGUSSON.
[_With a slight start._] Was he?
PENELOPE.
It’s so bad that she should have had a relapse when she seemed to be
going on so well.
MRS. FERGUSSON.
[_Puzzled, but trying not to show it._] I was more distressed than I can
say.
PENELOPE.
And it must have been so inconvenient for you after you’d made all your
arrangements for going to Paris.
MRS. FERGUSSON.
Oh, of course, I didn’t think of my convenience at all.
PENELOPE.
Dickie says the way you’ve nursed her is beyond all praise.
MRS. FERGUSSON.
I think in this life we ought to do what we can for one another. I only
did my duty.
PENELOPE.
So few of us do that.
MRS. FERGUSSON.
When I think of my husband bravely serving his country in a foreign
land, I feel that I ought to do anything I can to help others.
[PENELOPE _meditatively winks to herself_.
PENELOPE.
Were you there at the end?
MRS. FERGUSSON.
[_Astounded._] What end?
PENELOPE.
You don’t mean to say you don’t know?
MRS. FERGUSSON.
Penelope, I haven’t an idea what you’re talking about.
PENELOPE.
But Dickie was with Mrs. Mack all this morning.
MRS. FERGUSSON.
That’s absurd.
PENELOPE.
I wonder you weren’t sent for.
MRS. FERGUSSON.
But....
[_She is speechless with anger and amazement._
PENELOPE.
Then you really don’t know?
MRS. FERGUSSON.
[_Desperately._] I know nothing.
PENELOPE.
My poor, dear Ada. I’m distracted that I should have to give you this
bitter, bitter blow. Mrs. Mack is--dead.
MRS. FERGUSSON.
Dead!
PENELOPE.
She died in Dickie’s arms, thanking him for all he’d done for her.
MRS. FERGUSSON.
Impossible!
PENELOPE.
I don’t wonder you say that. She was quite frisky a day or two ago....
Sit down, dear. You’re quite upset. You were very fond of her, weren’t
you?
MRS. FERGUSSON.
Dead!
PENELOPE.
Why don’t you have a good cry? Can’t you find your handkerchief? Take
this. It’s very sad, isn’t it? And after all you’d done for her?
[MRS. FERGUSSON _dabs her eyes with the handkerchief_.
MRS. FERGUSSON.
[_Forcing herself to be natural._] It’s a great blow.
PENELOPE.
Oh, I know. I feel for you, dear. Dickie was devoted to her. He said
he’d never had such a patient. [_Putting her handkerchief to her own
eyes._] She died, with a smile on her lips, mentioning her dead
husband’s name. Dickie was so moved, he couldn’t eat any lunch, poor
boy; and we’re going to have a new landaulette.
[DICKIE _comes in and stops at the door for a moment as he sees the
two women apparently in tears_.
DICKIE.
I say, what’s up?
PENELOPE.
[_With a sob._] I’ve just broken the news to poor Ada.
DICKIE.
What news?
PENELOPE.
She didn’t know that Mrs. Mack was--no more.
MRS. FERGUSSON.
[_Trying to conceal her rage and mystification._] I certainly didn’t!
PENELOPE.
You ought to have let her know, Dickie. She would have liked to be--in
at the death.
DICKIE.
I wanted to spare you.
MRS. FERGUSSON.
It’s too kind of you.
PENELOPE.
I knew that was it. Dickie has such a kind heart.
MRS. FERGUSSON.
[_With restrained anger._] I have already noticed it.
PENELOPE.
[_To her husband._] And you were so fond of her, weren’t you?
DICKIE.
I looked upon her as a real friend.
PENELOPE.
I’ve told Ada that she expired in your arms, darling.
DICKIE.
With a smile on her lips.
PENELOPE.
That’s just what I said. Murmuring the name of her husband, who’d been
dead for forty years. What did you say the name was, Dickie?
DICKIE.
Walker, darling.
PENELOPE.
Tell Ada more. She wants to hear the details.
DICKIE.
She asked to be remembered to you. She sent her love to your husband.
PENELOPE.
She seems to have thought of everything. You must go to the funeral,
Dickie.
DICKIE.
Yes; I should like to show her that sign of respect.
PENELOPE.
[_To_ MRS. FERGUSSON.] Wouldn’t you like a glass of sherry, dearest? I
can see you’re quite upset.
MRS. FERGUSSON.
The--news has taken me by surprise.
PENELOPE.
To tell you the truth, I expected it last night. But I quite understand
your emotion.
MRS. FERGUSSON.
I’m so much obliged for your sympathy.
PENELOPE.
I’m going to get you some sherry myself.
DICKIE.
Oh, let me.
PENELOPE.
No, stay with Ada, darling. You have such a way with you when one’s in
trouble.
DICKIE.
[_Edging off._] On an occasion like this a woman wants another woman
with her.
PENELOPE.
[_Preventing him from moving._] No, you know just the right thing to
say. I shall never forget how charming you were when our last cook gave
notice.
[_She goes out._ MRS. FERGUSSON _springs to her feet_.
MRS. FERGUSSON.
Now!
DICKIE.
Good heavens! You made me positively jump.
MRS. FERGUSSON.
What does all this mean?
DICKIE.
It means that Mrs. Mack, like the rest of us, is mortal. The funeral
takes place the day after to-morrow at Kensal Green. Friends kindly
accept this the only intimation.
MRS. FERGUSSON.
How can Mrs. Mack be dead? You know just as well as I do that she never
existed.
DICKIE.
Upon my word, I’m beginning to be not quite certain. I’ve talked about
her so much that she seems much more real than--than my bank balance,
for instance. And I could write a beautiful article for the _Lancet_ on
the case.
MRS. FERGUSSON.
[_Furiously._] Oh!
DICKIE.
After all, she did have a rotten time of it, poor old lady. Operation
after operation. Life wasn’t worth living. She was bound to die. And I
call it a jolly happy release.
MRS. FERGUSSON.
Where were you last night?
DICKIE.
I was at Mrs. Mack’s--no, of course, I wasn’t. I’m so used to saying
that that it slips out quite naturally. I’m awfully sorry.
MRS. FERGUSSON.
How can you tell me such lies?
DICKIE.
I don’t know. I suppose it’s growing into a habit.
MRS. FERGUSSON.
I recommend you to keep them for Penelope.
DICKIE.
I suppose you think, then, they don’t matter?
MRS. FERGUSSON.
Oh, she’s your wife. That’s quite another story.
DICKIE.
I see.
MRS. FERGUSSON.
What d’you mean by saying, I see?
DICKIE.
It was the only reply I could think of at the moment.
MRS. FERGUSSON.
I’m sure you meant something by it.
[PEYTON _comes in with a tray on which are two wine glasses and a
decanter. They keep silence till she has gone out._
DICKIE.
Have a glass of sherry, will you?
MRS. FERGUSSON.
No.
DICKIE.
Well, I think I will if you don’t mind. [_He pours himself out a
glass._] I have an idea that sherry’s coming into fashion again.
MRS. FERGUSSON.
Have you?
DICKIE.
I always think I have a knack of making myself pleasant under
difficulties.
[_He drinks a glass of sherry to give himself courage._
DICKIE.
Look here, I’ve got something to tell you that I’m afraid you won’t very
much like. I daresay you’ll think me an awful brute, but I’m bound to
say it. [MRS. FERGUSSON _does not answer, and after a moment’s pause he
goes on_.] The fact is, I’m not built the proper way for intrigue. All
these lies make me awfully uncomfortable. I don’t like to think I’m
treating Penelope badly. [_Another pause._] I may as well tell you the
whole truth bang out. I’ve discovered that I’m desperately in love with
Penelope.
MRS. FERGUSSON.
[_Calmly._] And?
DICKIE.
[_Rather surprised._] And that’s all.
MRS. FERGUSSON.
And how do you imagine that interests me?
DICKIE.
[_Quite embarrassed._] I thought--er....
[MRS. FERGUSSON _goes into a peal of laughter_. DICKIE, _quite
taken aback, looks at her with astonishment_.
MRS. FERGUSSON.
You haven’t been under the impression that I ever cared for you?
DICKIE.
[_Trying to make it out._] No, no. Of course a man’s a conceited ass who
thinks a woman’s in love with him.
MRS. FERGUSSON.
You amused me when I first met you, but you’ve long ceased to do that.
DICKIE.
It’s kind of you to say so.
MRS. FERGUSSON.
It was convenient to have some one to do things for me. I’m a womanly
woman and....
DICKIE.
You don’t know your way about.
MRS. FERGUSSON.
For the last month you’ve bored me to extinction. I’ve done everything
in my power to show you except say it right out.
DICKIE.
I’m afraid I’ve been very dense.
MRS. FERGUSSON.
Dreadfully dense.
DICKIE.
But it was good of you to spare my feelings.
MRS. FERGUSSON.
[_With an amiable smile._] D’you think it would be rude if I described
you in your own words as a conceited ass?
DICKIE.
It might make our future acquaintance rather formal.
MRS. FERGUSSON.
There will be no future acquaintance.
DICKIE.
Then there’s nothing more to be said.
[MRS. FERGUSSON _sweeps to the door. She stops._
MRS. FERGUSSON.
Does Penelope adore you as blindly as when first I met you?
DICKIE.
I venture to think she’s as much in love with me as I am with her.
MRS. FERGUSSON.
What have you done with the letters I wrote to you?
DICKIE.
I did as we agreed. I burnt them at once.
MRS. FERGUSSON.
I didn’t. I kept yours.
DICKIE.
I shouldn’t have thought they were interesting enough.
MRS. FERGUSSON.
I have an idea that Penelope would find them positively absorbing.
DICKIE.
Why don’t you send them to her?
MRS. FERGUSSON.
If you have no objection, I think I will.
DICKIE.
They will tell her nothing that she doesn’t know already.
MRS. FERGUSSON.
[_Coming back, startled._] You don’t mean to say you’ve told her?
DICKIE.
Of course not.
MRS. FERGUSSON.
Well?
DICKIE.
She’s known it all along.
MRS. FERGUSSON.
Known what?
DICKIE.
Everything. From the beginning.
MRS. FERGUSSON.
[_Terrified._] How did she find out?
DICKIE.
Heaven only knows.
MRS. FERGUSSON.
It’s a trap! I might have known she wasn’t such a fool as she seemed.
She wants to divorce you, and she’s used me. My husband will never stand
that.
DICKIE.
I can imagine that even the most affectionate husband would draw the
line there.
MRS. FERGUSSON.
Oh, don’t try and be funny now.
DICKIE.
I wasn’t. The funny part is yet to come.
MRS. FERGUSSON.
What?
DICKIE.
Well, you needn’t get into a state about it. Penelope’s not going to do
anything.
MRS. FERGUSSON.
But then, why ...?
DICKIE.
[_With a shrug of the shoulders._] She doesn’t care a hang.
MRS. FERGUSSON.
I don’t understand.
DICKIE.
Don’t you? It’s very simple. It’s a matter of no importance. She’s glad
that I’ve been amused. If she only knew how much amusement I’ve got out
of it! She looks upon it in the light of a--of a change of air.
MRS. FERGUSSON.
[_Furiously._] Oh! Oh! Oh! A fortnight’s golf at the seaside, I suppose.
DICKIE.
Something like that.
MRS. FERGUSSON.
I’d sooner she divorced you.
DICKIE.
Thanks, I wouldn’t.
MRS. FERGUSSON.
Oh, what a humiliation! I’ve been just a convenience because she had
other fish to fry. How sordid it makes the whole thing! And I was
yearning for romance. I would never have looked at you if I hadn’t
thought she doted on you.
DICKIE.
I have an idea that affairs of this sort are only romantic when they
happen to other people. When they happen to yourself--well, sordid’s
just the word.
MRS. FERGUSSON.
[_Suddenly remembering._] And Mrs. Mack?
DICKIE.
She’s known all about that too.
MRS. FERGUSSON.
D’you mean that to-day when we ...?
DICKIE.
Mingled your tears? I think hers were about as real as yours.
MRS. FERGUSSON.
And she led me on to say one thing after another.
DICKIE.
I think she’s been pulling both our legs successfully.
MRS. FERGUSSON.
How on earth am I going to meet her now?
DICKIE.
She’ll be all right. She’ll be just as charming as ever.
MRS. FERGUSSON.
You fool! Don’t you see that if she’s charming to me it’s because she
thinks she’s prettier than I am, and cleverer than I am, and more
fascinating than I am? She doesn’t even despise me, she’s indifferent to
me.
[_She goes to the glass and looks at herself._
MRS. FERGUSSON.
[_Furiously._] A change of air.
[_The door opens slowly, and_ PENELOPE _comes in. She has changed
into motoring things._ MRS. FERGUSSON _gives a sudden gasp as she
sees her and turns her face away. For a moment_ PENELOPE _stands
still, looking at them reflectively_. DICKIE _aimlessly arranges
things on a table_.
PENELOPE.
[_With a faint smile._] I’m not disturbing you, am I?
DICKIE.
Er....
PENELOPE.
Yes?
DICKIE.
Nothing.
[_Suddenly, with a sob_, MRS. FERGUSSON _sinks into a chair, and
hiding her face bursts into tears_. PENELOPE _gives her a look of
surprise and goes swiftly up to her. She leans over her, with her
hand on_ MRS. FERGUSSON’S _shoulder_.
PENELOPE.
[_Almost tenderly._] What? Real tears?
MRS. FERGUSSON.
[_In a broken voice._] I feel so ridiculous.
PENELOPE.
[_With a little smile, as if she were talking to a child._] Don’t. Don’t
cry.
MRS. FERGUSSON.
I look such a perfect fool.
PENELOPE.
It’s so tiresome of our little sins to look foolish when they’re found
out, instead of wicked.
MRS. FERGUSSON.
I shall never respect myself again.
PENELOPE.
Dry your tears, dear. Uncle Davenport has just come, and he wants to
know if it’s respectable to ask you to lunch with him alone.
MRS. FERGUSSON.
[_With a suspicion of her old manner._] He’s so sympathetic. I’d like to
have a heart-to-heart talk with him.
PENELOPE.
You’ll find the Carlton a most suitable place.
MRS. FERGUSSON.
Are my eyes red?
PENELOPE.
Not a bit. I’ll get you some powder.
[_She takes the powder-box off a table, and_ MRS. FERGUSSON
_meditatively powders her nose_.
MRS. FERGUSSON.
I like him. He talks of all the duchesses by their Christian names.
[PEYTON _announces_ BARLOW _and goes out_.
PEYTON.
Mr. Davenport Barlow.
[_As he comes in_, MRS. FERGUSSON _finally and entirely regains her
usual manner_.
PENELOPE.
[_Kissing her uncle._] How d’you do?
BARLOW.
[_Advancing gallantly to_ MRS. FERGUSSON.] This is a pleasing surprise.
I was under the impression you were in Paris.
MRS. FERGUSSON.
No, poor Mrs. Mack was suddenly taken much worse.
BARLOW.
It is my gain.
MRS. FERGUSSON.
It’s too nice of you to say so, but I’m leaving London at once all the
same.
BARLOW.
But this is very sudden. What shall we do without you?
MRS. FERGUSSON.
You must blame Dr. O’Farrell.
DICKIE.
[_Astonished._] Me?
MRS. FERGUSSON.
He tells me that now I’m quite strong enough for a foreign climate,
and, of course, nothing will induce me to remain an hour away from my
husband if I’m not obliged to.
BARLOW.
But I thought he was bravely fighting for his country.
MRS. FERGUSSON.
Well, you see, there doesn’t happen to be any fighting for him to do
just now, and he’s taken a very nice house at Malta. And I shall start
to-morrow.
BARLOW.
This is more distressing than I can say. And are you going straight
through?
MRS. FERGUSSON.
No, I shall stop a day or two in Paris on my way.
BARLOW.
How very singular! I had made all arrangements to go to Paris to-morrow
myself.
MRS. FERGUSSON.
Then would you mind looking after me on the journey? You see, I’m a
womanly woman, and I’m quite helpless in the train by myself.
BARLOW.
I should look upon it as a privilege. And perhaps we might go to one or
two plays while you’re there.
MRS. FERGUSSON.
If you’ll promise not to take me to anything risky.
BARLOW.
Ha, ha, ha.
MRS. FERGUSSON.
[_To_ PENELOPE.] Well, dear, I must say good-bye to you. I’m afraid we
shan’t meet again for some time.
PENELOPE.
Good-bye.
[_They kiss one another affectionately._
MRS. FERGUSSON.
[_To_ DICKIE.] Good-bye. If you hear of anything good on the Stock
Exchange, you might let me know. I think I shall cut my loss on
Johannesburg and New Jerusalems.
DICKIE.
I would.
MRS. FERGUSSON.
[_To_ BARLOW.] I have a cab downstairs. Can I give you a lift anywhere?
BARLOW.
It would be very kind of you.
[_With a nod to_ DICKIE _she goes out_.
BARLOW.
[_Shaking hands with_ PENELOPE.] Charming creature. So dashing and a
thorough gentlewoman.
PENELOPE.
Now, mind, Uncle Davenport, no pranks.
BARLOW.
My dear, I’m not only the soul of honour, but fifty-two.
[_Exit._
PENELOPE.
[_As he goes out._] I suppose that does induce a platonic state of mind.
DICKIE.
[_With a sigh of relief._] Ouf!
[PENELOPE _turns to a glass to arrange her hat_. DICKIE _watches
her with a smile_.
Well?
PENELOPE.
[_Pretending to be surprised._] I beg your pardon?
DICKIE.
You promised to kiss me.
PENELOPE.
I didn’t. I promised to allow myself to be kissed.
DICKIE.
[_Taking her in his arms and kissing her._] You little beast.
PENELOPE.
Finished?
DICKIE.
Not nearly.
PENELOPE.
Then I’m afraid you must go on another time. I’ve got a taxi at the
door, and it’s costing twopence a minute.
DICKIE.
[_Stepping back._] What d’you want a taxi for?
PENELOPE.
[_With a laugh._] I thought that would chill your ardour.
DICKIE.
You’re not going on that beastly motor trip now?
PENELOPE.
Why on earth not?
DICKIE.
[_Half injured, half surprised._] Pen!
PENELOPE.
[_Looking at the watch on her wrist._] Good gracious, I’m keeping them
waiting.
DICKIE.
[_Taking both her hands._] Now don’t tease me. Go and take those horrid
motor things off, and let’s have a comfortable little tea together. And
tell Peyton you’re not at home.
PENELOPE.
I’m dreadfully sorry to disappoint you, but I’m afraid I can’t break an
engagement.
DICKIE.
You’re not serious?
PENELOPE.
Abnormally.
DICKIE.
But, Pen dear, everything’s different now. Don’t you know that I love
you?
PENELOPE.