ove to continue their conversation, but it is for him to decide.
For a time he seems to have forgotten her.)

CRICHTON. Did you lose any arrows to-day?

LADY MARY. Only one in Firefly Grove.

CRICHTON. You were as far as that? How did you get across the Black
Gorge?

LADY MARY. I went across on the rope.

CRICHTON. Hand over hand?

LADY MARY (swelling at the implied praise). I wasn't in the least dizzy.

CRICHTON (moved). You brave girl! (He sits back in his chair a little
agitated.) But never do that again.

LADY MARY (pouting). It is such fun, Gov.

CRICHTON (decisively). I forbid it.

LADY MARY (the little rebel). I shall.

CRICHTON (surprised). Polly! (He signs to her sharply to step forward,
but for a moment she holds back petulantly, and even when she does come
it is less obediently than like a naughty, sulky child. Nevertheless,
with the forbearance that is characteristic of the man, he addresses her
with grave gentleness rather than severely.) You must do as I tell you,
you know.

LADY MARY (strangely passionate). I shan't.

CRICHTON (smiling at her fury). We shall see. Frown at me, Polly; there,
you do it at once. Clench your little fists, stamp your feet, bite your
ribbons--(A student of women, or at least of this woman, he knows that
she is about to do those things, and thus she seems to do them to order.
LADY MARY screws up her face like a baby and cries. He is immediately
kind.) You child of nature; was it cruel of me to wish to save you from
harm?

LADY MARY (drying her eyes). I'm an ungracious wretch. Oh God, I don't
try half hard enough to please you. I'm even wearing--(she looks down
sadly)--when I know you prefer it.

CRICHTON (thoughtfully). I admit I do prefer it. Perhaps I am a little
old-fashioned in these matters. (Her tears again threaten.) Ah, don't,
Polly; that's nothing.

LADY MARY. If I could only please you, Gov.

CRICHTON (slowly). You do please me, child, very much--(he half
rises)--very much indeed. (If he meant to say more he checks himself.
He looks at his plate.) No more, thank you. (The simple island meal is
ended, save for the walnuts and the wine, and CRICHTON is too busy a man
to linger long over them. But he is a stickler for etiquette, end the
table is cleared charmingly, though with dispatch, before they are
placed before him. LADY MARY is an artist with the crumb-brush, and
there are few arts more delightful to watch. Dusk has come sharply, and
she turns