kerchief. (She picks it up from the sofa.)

MRS. KNOWLE (still in the voice in which you speak to an invalid).
Thank you, dear. Don't let me interrupt you--I was just going--

MELISANDE. But I am just going into the garden. Stay and talk to
Bobby, won't you?

MRS. KNOWLE (with a happy smile, hoping for the best). Yes, my
darling.

MELISANDE (going to the windows). That's right. (She stops at the
windows and holds out her hands to the night)--

The moon shines bright: In such a night as this
When the sweet wind did gently kiss the trees
And they did make no noise, in such a night
Troilus methinks mounted the Troyan walls,
And sighed his soul towards the Grecian tents,
Where Cressid lay that night. In such a night
Stood Dido with a willow in her hand,
Upon the wild sea banks, and waft her love
To come again to Carthage.

(She stays there a moment, and then says in a thrilling voice) In such
a night! Ah!

[She goes to it.

MRS. KNOWLE (in a different voice). Ah! . . . Well, Mr. Coote?

BOBBY (turning back to her with a start). Oh--er--yes?

MRS. KNOWLE. No, I think I must call you Bobby. I may call you Bobby,
mayn't I?

BOBBY. Oh, please do, Mrs. Knowle.

MRS. KNOWLE (archly). Not Mrs. Knowle! Can't you think of a better
name?

BOBBY (wondering if he ought to call her MARY). Er--I'm--I'm afraid I
don't quite--

MRS. KNOWLE. Mother.

BOBBY. Oh, but I say--

MRS. KNOWLE (giving him her hand). And now come and sit on the sofa
with me, and tell me all about it.

(They go to the sofa together.)

BOBBY. But I say, Mrs. Knowle--

MRS. KNOWLE (shaking a finger playfully at him). Not Mrs. Knowle,
Bobby.

BOBBY. But I say, you mustn't think--I mean Sandy and I--we aren't--

MRS. KNOWLE. You don't mean to tell me, Mr. Coote, that she has
refused you again.

BOBBY. Yes. I say, I'd much rather not talk about it.

MRS. KNOWLE. Well, it just shows you that what I said the other day
was true. Girls don't know their own minds.

BOBBY (ruefully). I think Sandy knows hers--about me, anyhow.

MRS. KNOWLE. Mr. Coote, you are forgetting what the poet
said--Shakespeare, or was it the other man?--"Faint heart never won
fair lady." If Mr. Knowle had had a faint heart, he would never have
won me. Seven times I refused him, and seven times he came again--like
Jacob. The eighth time he drew out a revolver, and threatened to shoot
himself. I was shaking like an aspen leaf. Suddenly I realised that I
loved him