tapping a keg of beer with some high
hurdler.

MRS. CONNAGE: Let's look right away.

(They go out. ROSALIND comes in with GILLESPIE.)

GILLESPIE: Rosalind--Once more I ask you. Don't you care a blessed thing
about me?

(AMORY walks in briskly.)

AMORY: My dance.

ROSALIND: Mr. Gillespie, this is Mr. Blaine.

GILLESPIE: I've met Mr. Blaine. From Lake Geneva, aren't you?

AMORY: Yes.

GILLESPIE: (Desperately) I've been there. It's in the--the Middle West,
isn't it?

AMORY: (Spicily) Approximately. But I always felt that I'd rather be
provincial hot-tamale than soup without seasoning.

GILLESPIE: What!

AMORY: Oh, no offense.

(GILLESPIE bows and leaves.)

ROSALIND: He's too much _people_.

AMORY: I was in love with a _people_ once.

ROSALIND: So?

AMORY: Oh, yes--her name was Isabelle--nothing at all to her except what
I read into her.

ROSALIND: What happened?

AMORY: Finally I convinced her that she was smarter than I was--then she
threw me over. Said I was critical and impractical, you know.

ROSALIND: What do you mean impractical?

AMORY: Oh--drive a car, but can't change a tire.

ROSALIND: What are you going to do?

AMORY: Can't say--run for President, write--

ROSALIND: Greenwich Village?

AMORY: Good heavens, no--I said write--not drink.

ROSALIND: I like business men. Clever men are usually so homely.

AMORY: I feel as if I'd known you for ages.

ROSALIND: Oh, are you going to commence the "pyramid" story?

AMORY: No--I was going to make it French. I was Louis XIV and you were
one of my--my--(Changing his tone.) Suppose--we fell in love.

ROSALIND: I've suggested pretending.

AMORY: If we did it would be very big.

ROSALIND: Why?

AMORY: Because selfish people are in a way terribly capable of great
loves.

ROSALIND: (Turning her lips up) Pretend.

(Very deliberately they kiss.)

AMORY: I can't say sweet things. But you _are_ beautiful.

ROSALIND: Not that.

AMORY: What then?

ROSALIND: (Sadly) Oh, nothing--only I want sentiment, real
sentiment--and I never find it.

AMORY: I never find anything else in the world--and I loathe it.

ROSALIND: It's so hard to find a male to gratify one's artistic taste.

(Some one has opened a door and the music of a waltz surges into the
room. ROSALIND rises.)

ROSALIND: Listen! they're playing "Kiss Me Again."

(He looks at her.)

AMORY: Well?

ROSALIND: Well?

AMORY: (Softly--the battle lost) I love you.

ROSALIN