what?

HILDEGARDE. Ratiocination. Reasoning. On either side.

TRANTO. Oh no!

HILDEGARDE. It's simply a question of mutual attitude, isn't it? Now, if
only--. But there! What's the use? Parents are like that, poor dears!
They have forgotten! (_With emphasis_.) They have forgotten--what makes
life worth living.

TRANTO. You mean, for instance, your mother never sits on your father's
knee.

HILDEGARDE (_bravely, after hesitation_). Yes! Crudely--that's what I do
mean.

TRANTO. Miss Hildegarde, you are the most marvellous girl I ever met.
You are, really! You seem to combine all qualities. It's amazing to me.
I'm more and more astounded. Every time I come here there's a fresh
revelation. Now you mention romance. I'm glad you mentioned it first.
But I _saw_ it first. I saw it in your eyes the first time I ever met
you. Yes! Miss Hilda, do you see it in mine? Look. Look closely.
(_Approaching her_.) Because it's there. I must tell you. I can't wait
any longer. (_Feeling for her hand, vainly_.)

HILDEGARDE (_drawing back_). Mr. Tranto, is this the way you treat
father?

_Enter_ Mr. Culver, _back_.

CULVER (_quickly_). Hilda, go to your mother. She's upstairs.
HILDEGARDE. What am I to do?

CULVER. I don't know. (_With meaning_.) Think what the sagacious Sampson
Straight would do, and do that.

(Hildegarde _gives a sharp look first at_ Culver, _and then at_ Tranto,
_and exit, back_.)

CULVER (_turning to_ Tranto). My dear fellow, the war is practically
over.

TRANTO. Good heavens! There was nothing on the tape when I left the
Club.

CULVER. Oh! I don't mean your war. I mean the twenty-two years' war.

TRANTO. The twenty-two years' war?

CULVER. My married life. Over! Finished! Napoo!

TRANTO. Do you know what you're saying?

CULVER. Look here, Tranto. You and I don't belong to the same
generation. In fact, if I'd started early enough I might have been your
father. But we got so damned intimate last night, and I'm in such a
damned hole, and you're so damned wise, that I feel I must talk to you.
Not that it'll be any use.

TRANTO. But what's the matter?

CULVER. The matter is--keeping a woman in the house.

TRANTO. Mr. Culver! You don't mean--

CULVER. I mean my wife--of course. I've just had the most ghastly rumpus
with my wife. It was divided into two acts. The first took place here,
the second in the boudoir (_indicating boudoir_). The second act was the
shortest but the worst.

TRANTO. But wh