ou.

HE: (Openly taken aback) You wanted to kiss me a minute ago.

SHE: This is now.

HE: I'd better go.

SHE: I suppose so.

(He goes toward the door.)

SHE: Oh!

(He turns.)

SHE: (Laughing) Score--Home Team: One hundred--Opponents: Zero.

(He starts back.)

SHE: (Quickly) Rain--no game.

(He goes out.)

(She goes quietly to the chiffonier, takes out a cigarette-case and
hides it in the side drawer of a desk. Her mother enters, note-book in
hand.)

MRS. CONNAGE: Good--I've been wanting to speak to you alone before we go
down-stairs.

ROSALIND: Heavens! you frighten me!

MRS. CONNAGE: Rosalind, you've been a very expensive proposition.

ROSALIND: (Resignedly) Yes.

MRS. CONNAGE: And you know your father hasn't what he once had.

ROSALIND: (Making a wry face) Oh, please don't talk about money.

MRS. CONNAGE: You can't do anything without it. This is our last year in
this house--and unless things change Cecelia won't have the advantages
you've had.

ROSALIND: (Impatiently) Well--what is it?

MRS. CONNAGE: So I ask you to please mind me in several things I've put
down in my note-book. The first one is: don't disappear with young men.
There may be a time when it's valuable, but at present I want you on the
dance-floor where I can find you. There are certain men I want to have
you meet and I don't like finding you in some corner of the conservatory
exchanging silliness with any one--or listening to it.

ROSALIND: (Sarcastically) Yes, listening to it _is_ better.

MRS. CONNAGE: And don't waste a lot of time with the college set--little
boys nineteen and twenty years old. I don't mind a prom or a football
game, but staying away from advantageous parties to eat in little cafes
down-town with Tom, Dick, and Harry--

ROSALIND: (Offering her code, which is, in its way, quite as high as her
mother's) Mother, it's done--you can't run everything now the way you
did in the early nineties.

MRS. CONNAGE: (Paying no attention) There are several bachelor friends
of your father's that I want you to meet to-night--youngish men.

ROSALIND: (Nodding wisely) About forty-five?

MRS. CONNAGE: (Sharply) Why not?

ROSALIND: Oh, _quite_ all right--they know life and are so adorably
tired looking (shakes her head)--but they _will_ dance.

MRS. CONNAGE: I haven't met Mr. Blaine--but I don't think you'll care
for him. He doesn't sound like a money-maker.

ROSALIND: Mother, I never _think_ about money.

MRS.