dventures and call you Aramis.

TROTTER. They wouldnt dare!

FANNY. You always make such delicious fun of the serious people. Your
_insouciance_--

TROTTER. [frantic] Stop talking French to me: it's not a proper language
for a young girl. Great heavens! how is it possible that a few innocent
pleasantries should be so frightfully misunderstood? Ive tried all my
life to be sincere and simple, to be unassuming and kindly. Ive lived a
blameless life. Ive supported the Censorship in the face of ridicule
and insult. And now I'm told that I'm a centre of Immoralism! of Modern
Minxism! a trifler with the most sacred subjects! a Nietzschean!!
perhaps a Shavian!!!

FANNY. Do you mean you are really on the serious side, Mr Trotter?

TROTTER. Of course I'm on the serious side. How dare you ask me such a
question?

FANNY. Then why dont you play for it?

TROTTER. I do play for it--short, of course, of making myself
ridiculous.

FANNY. What! not make yourself ridiculous for the sake of a good cause!
Oh, Mr Trotter. Thats _vieux jeu_.

TROTTER. [shouting at her] Dont talk French. I will not allow it.

FANNY. But this dread of ridicule is so frightfully out of date. The
Cambridge Fabian Society--

TROTTER. I forbid you to mention the Fabian Society to me.

FANNY. Its motto is "You cannot learn to skate without making yourself
ridiculous."

TROTTER. Skate! What has that to do with it?

FANNY. Thats not all. It goes on, "The ice of life is slippery."

TROTTER. Ice of life indeed! You should be eating penny ices and
enjoying yourself. I wont hear another word.

_The Count returns._

THE COUNT. We're all waiting in the drawing-room, my dear. Have you been
detaining Mr Trotter all this time?

TROTTER. I'm so sorry. I must have just a little brush up: I [He hurries
out].

THE COUNT. My dear, you should be in the drawing-room. You should not
have kept him here.

FANNY. I know. Dont scold me: I had something important to say to him.

THE COUNT. I shall ask him to take you in to dinner.

FANNY. Yes, papa. Oh, I hope it will go off well.

THE COUNT. Yes, love, of course it will. Come along.

FANNY. Just one thing, papa, whilst we're alone. Who was the Stagirite?

THE COUNT. The Stagirite? Do you mean to say you dont know?

FANNY. Havnt the least notion.

THE COUNT. The Stagirite was Aristotle. By the way, dont mention him to
Mr Trotter.

_They go to the dining-room._

THE PLAY

ACT I

_In t