_Muriel_ (_to_ ALAN, _who is just taking his hat_). Oh! _May_ I speak to
you one moment, Master ROY?
_Alan._ Pray do, dear Miss VANE. I am just going for a stroll by
myself--to--to develope an idea I've got.
_Muriel._ If you should happen to be going for a secret drive along the
high road with VIOLA, in a dog-cart from JOHNSTONE'S, _would_ you be so
kind as to give her this? (_Hands scarlet parasol._) She forgot it. And
don't let her leave it anywhere. You see her initials are carved round
it. And she is _always_ losing things. Please be very careful!
[_She smiles._
_Alan._ What on earth can have given you such an extraordinary idea,
Miss VANE?
[_Takes parasol._
_Muriel._ Well, a sort of coach-building, livery-stable person, from
JOHNSTONE'S, is engaged to JANE, the housemaid. He came to see her
to-day.... She has been ill, poor thing!
_Alan._ How very distressing!
_Muriel._ VIOLA _said_ she was going to visit cottages. However, in
_case_ you _should_ meet--one never knows--you'll give her the sunshade.
_Alan._ You may depend upon it, Miss VANE.
_In the Dog-cart._ ALAN _is driving very leisurely, and_ VIOLA
_trying to hide under her parasol_.
_Alan._ That's a perfectly delicious hat of yours!
_Viola._ I am so glad you like it! This is a very nice dog-cart, and
this is a pretty lane to drive in, so cool and green.
[_A pony-carriage passes._
_Viola_ (_starting violently_). Good heavens! There are the clergyman
and his wife.
[_She bows, blushing crimson._
_Alan._ Why are you agitated, Mrs. TRAVERS? They look very gentle and
harmless.
_Viola._ Gentle and harmless! If they tell ALBERT?
_Alan._ Does he disapprove of the clergy taking exercise in the open
air?
_Viola_ (_pettishly_). Of course not. How absurd!
[_A silence._
_Alan._ Shall we get out presently, and sit in one of these nice fields,
and make daisy-chains? There are daisies in fields, I know--though I
_am_ rather urban.
_Viola._ Oh, yes; and cowslips!
_Alan._ You ought to give a cowslip-ball, Mrs. TRAVERS. It would be
charming. May I come?
_Viola._ If you're old enough by then!
_Alan._ Oh, I'm never going to be old enough.
_Viola._ Really not?
_Alan_ (_candidly_). It's a great thing to have settled on one's pose,
Mrs. TRAVERS; and one can't be always changing--it's so much trouble!
_In the Field._
_Viola_ (_trying to enjoy herself_). This is lovely! So cool! and the
sky so--so blue!
_Alan._ You have a perfect passion for scenery! (_He picks some flowers,
and gives them to her._) I have so many things I want to tell you----
_Viola._ About yourself?
_Alan._ No, about you. Things you don't know----
_Viola_ (_starting_). Oh! Is that someone we know?
_Alan._ I _hope_ you wouldn't know a man who wears such a hat as that in
the country!
_Viola._ It's all right--I _don't_ know him.
[_Sits down._
_Alan_ (_trying to recover the thread_). About yourself--your eyes, for
instance. Has anyone ever told you how annihilating they are?
_Viola._ I'm very glad you like them, Master ROY; but we really _must_
go now, Dr. ROBERTS will be there to tea, and they will think it odd----
_Alan_ (_ironically_). Oh, it would be terrible to miss Dr.
ROBERTS--quite terrible!
[_Follows her, thinking the expedition rather a failure. As he
helps her into the dog-cart, she knocks her ankle very
slightly._
_Viola._ Oh! Oh! I've broken my ankle! I shan't be able to walk home! It
will all be found out! Oh, _why_ did we do this!
[_She begins to cry._
_Alan_ (_to himself_). Why indeed! (_To_ VIOLA.) Poor dear child, how
absolutely dreadful! But, if Dr. ROBERTS is there it will be all right.
He can set it.
_Viola._ Set it! How can you talk in that heartless way! _Why_ did you
make me come for this drive?
_Alan_ (_apologetically_). I really thought you seemed as if you'd like
to! Come, I can't allow you to cry.
[_Tries to dry her eyes. She moves away. He drops his whip
and has to get out and pick it up. They drive back very
quickly and in entire silence, save for a few groans
from_ VIOLA.
_Viola._ Well, I suppose I must try to hobble home. Yes, I'm a little
better. Do take the horrid dog-cart away! It's an absurd one--brown and
ridiculous. _Do_ I look as if I'd been crying--much?
_Alan_ (_coldly but evasively_). You look perfectly charming.
_Viola._ Oh! _take_ that buttercup out of your coat! Someone might
suspect!----
[Illustration: At the garden gate.]
_Muriel_ (_meeting_ VIOLA _at the garden gate_). Oh, VIOLA, such
wonderful things have been happening! Quick--before we see anyone else.
Dr. ROBERTS has been here. Well, he proposed to me! and I accepted him
like a girl in a book! You see, you were out.
_Viola._ All right. Oh, MURIEL, I am so ill, and so anxious. I have such
a toothache, I can hardly walk. I hurt my foot, reading to a poor woman
in a cottage.
_Muriel._ Some tea will cure you. But, VIOLA, will you and ALBERT be
nice about my engagement?
_Viola._ The truth is I had such a dull, wretched, idiotic drive with
ALAN ROY, that I can't be nice about anything.
_Muriel._ Will you consult VALENTINE? Dr. ROBERTS, you know?
_Viola._ How can you go and get engaged to people called VALENTINE!
_At Dinner. Everyone very cheery, except_ CLAUDE MIGNON, _who
looks depressed, and_ Mrs. AVERIDGE, _who is unnoticed_.
_Albert_ (_serving soup_). What _is_ that ring?
_Viola._ Oh, nothing.
_Servant._ Please, Sir, it's only JOHNSTONE has sent misses's parasol,
that was left in the cart!
_Albert._ This is some mistake! You didn't drive to-day, VIOLA?
_Muriel_ (_apart to_ ALAN). Shall I betray you? (_To_ ALBERT.) The fact
is Master ROY went out alone, to develop an idea; and _I_ lent him
VIOLA'S parasol, because he was afraid of getting sunburnt.
[_Everyone laughs._
_Alan._ One _has_ to be so careful. Freckles run dreadfully in my
family. I had them once, and a relapse is _most_ dangerous!
_After Dinner._
_Viola._ Darling MURIEL! I congratulate you and VALENTINE. VALENTINE is
such a pretty name! How sweet you were! I shall never have another
secret!
_Muriel._ And shall you tell ALBERT all about it?
_Viola._ Perhaps--to-morrow!
_Claude Mignon_ (_to_ ALAN). I _hate_ a house where a girl is engaged!
I'm going away to-morrow.
_Alan._ So am I.
_Claude Mignon._ Rather a clumsy-looking creature--the old Doctor?
_Alan._ Oh, no! Very distinguished!
_Muriel_ (_to_ ALAN, _in a low voice_). I _told_ you not to leave the
parasol.
_Alan._ You did, dear Miss VANE. It was dear of you.
_Muriel._ And did you develope your idea?
_Alan._ Well--no. Somehow, it didn't quite come off.