en are so clumsy.

He. Have you had many opportunities of comparing us in this sort of
work?

She. Guy, what is my name?

He. Eh! I don't follow.

She. Here's my card-case. Can you read?

He. Yes. Well?

She. Well, that answers your question. You know the other's man's name.
Am I sufficiently humbled, or would you like to ask me if there is any
one else?

He. I see now. My darling, I never meant that for an instant. I was only
joking. There! Lucky there's no one on the road. They'd be scandalised.

She. They'll be more scandalised before the end.

He. Do-on't! I don't like you to talk in that way.

She. Unreasonable man! Who asked me to face the situation and accept
it? Tell me, do I look like Mrs. Penner? Do I look like a naughty woman!
Swear I don't! Give me your word of honour, my honourable friend, that
I'm not like Mrs. Buzgago. That's the way she stands, with her hands
clasped at the back of her head. D'you like that?

He. Don't be affected.

She. I'm not. I'm Mrs. Buzgago. Listen!

Pendant une anne' toute entiere
Le regiment n'a pas r'paru.
Au Ministere de la Guerre
On le r'porta comme perdu.
On se r'noncait--retrouver sa trace,
Quand un matin subitement,
On le vit reparaetre sur la place,
L'Colonel toujours en avant.

That's the way she rolls her r's. Am I like her?

He. No, but I object when you go on like an actress and sing stuff of
that kind. Where in the world did you pick up the Chanson du Colonel? It
isn't a drawing-room song. It isn't proper.

She. Mrs. Buzgago taught it me. She is both drawing-room and proper, and
in another month she'll shut her drawing-room to me, and thank God she
isn't as improper as I am. Oh, Guy, Guy! I wish I was like some women
and had no scruples about What is it Keene says? 'Wearing a corpse's
hair and being false to the bread they eat.'

He. I am only a man of limited intelligence, and, just now, very
bewildered. When you have quite finished flashing through all your moods
tell me, and I'll try to understand the last one.

She. Moods, Guy! I haven't any. I'm sixteen years old and you're just
twenty, and you've been waiting for two hours outside the school in the
cold. And now I've met you, and now we're walking home together. Does
that suit you, My Imperial Majesty?

He. No. We aren't children. Why can't you be rational?

She. He asks me that when I'm going to commit suicide for his sake, and,
and I don't w