n one--silly little
cotton one--not good enough for the dear eyes of Nora Cryna--

NORA [spluttering into a hysterical laugh and clutching him
convulsively with her fingers while she tries to stifle her
laughter against his collar bone]. Oh don't make me laugh: please
don't make me laugh.

BROADBENT [terrified]. I didn't mean to, on my soul. What is it?
What is it?

NORA. Nora Creena, Nora Creena.

BROADBENT [patting her]. Yes, yes, of course, Nora Creena, Nora
acushla [he makes cush rhyme to plush].

NORA. Acushla [she makes cush rhyme to bush].

BROADBENT. Oh, confound the language! Nora darling--my Nora--the
Nora I love--

NORA [shocked into propriety]. You mustn't talk like that to me.

BROADBENT [suddenly becoming prodigiously solemn and letting her
go]. No, of course not. I don't mean it--at least I do mean it;
but I know it's premature. I had no right to take advantage of
your being a little upset; but I lost my self-control for a
moment.

NORA [wondering at him]. I think you're a very kindhearted man,
Mr Broadbent; but you seem to me to have no self-control at all
[she turns her face away with a keen pang of shame and adds] no
more than myself.

BROADBENT [resolutely]. Oh yes, I have: you should see me when I
am really roused: then I have TREMENDOUS self-control. Remember:
we have been alone together only once before; and then, I regret
to say, I was in a disgusting state.

NORA. Ah no, Mr Broadbent: you weren't disgusting.

BROADBENT [mercilessly]. Yes I was: nothing can excuse it:
perfectly beastly. It must have made a most unfavorable
impression on you.

NORA. Oh, sure it's all right. Say no more about that.

BROADBENT. I must, Miss Reilly: it is my duty. I shall not detain
you long. May I ask you to sit down. [He indicates her chair with
oppressive solemnity. She sits down wondering. He then, with the
same portentous gravity, places a chair for himself near her;
sits down; and proceeds to explain]. First, Miss Reilly, may I
say that I have tasted nothing of an alcoholic nature today.

NORA. It doesn't seem to make as much difference in you as it
would in an Irishman, somehow.

BROADBENT. Perhaps not. Perhaps not. I never quite lose myself.

NORA [consolingly]. Well, anyhow, you're all right now.

BROADBENT [fervently]. Thank you, Miss Reilly: I am. Now we shall
get along. [Tenderly, lowering his voice] Nora: I was in earnest
last night. [Nora moves as if to rise]. No: one moment. Yo