Barlow. Appears to me you've said too much already.
Dorothy (coldly). I--I don't agree with Mr. Barlow. You--you
haven't said enough, Mr. Yardsley. If you have any explanation to
make, I'll listen.
Yardsley (looks up gratefully. Suddenly his face brightens. Aside).
Gad! The very thing! I'll tell the exact truth, and if Dorothy has
half the sense I think she has, I'll get in my proposal right under
Barlow's very nose. (Aloud.) My--my explanation, Miss Andrews, is
very simple. I--ah--I cannot deny having spoken every word that
Jennie has charged to my account. I did get down on my knees on the
rug. I did say "divine creature." I did not put it strong enough.
I should have said "divinest of _all_ creatures."
Dorothy (in remonstrance). Mr. Yardsley!
Barlow (aside). Magnificent bluff! But why? (Rubs his forehead in
a puzzled way.) What the deuce is he driving at?
Yardsley. Kindly let me finish. I did say "I love you." I should
have said "I adore you; I worship you." I did say "Will you be my
wife?" and I was going to add, "for if you will not, then is light
turned into darkness for me, and life, which your 'yes' will render
radiantly beautiful, will become dull, colorless, and not worth the
living." That is what I was going to say, Miss Andrews--Miss
Dorothy--when--when Jennie interrupted me and spoke the word I most
wish to hear--spoke the word "yes"; but it was not her yes that I
wished. My words of love were not for her.
Barlow (perceiving his drift). Ho! Absurd! Nonsense! Most
unreasonable! You were calling the sofa the divinest of all
creatures, I suppose, or perhaps asking the--the piano to put on its
shoes and--elope with you. Preposterous!
Dorothy (softly). Go on, Mr. Yardsley.
Yardsley. I--I spoke a little while ago about sand--courage--when it
comes to one's asking the woman he loves the greatest of all
questions. I was boastful. I pretended that I had that courage;
but--well, I am not as brave as I seem. I had come, Miss Dorothy, to
say to you the words that fell on Jennie's ears, and--and I began to
get nervous--stage-fright, I suppose it was--and I was foolish enough
to rehearse what I had to say--to you, and to you alone.