She. Yes. Have you any objection? Shall I stand under the chandelier in future?

He. What does he talk to you about?

She. What do men talk about when they sit out?

He. Ugh! Don’t! Well, now I’m up, you must dispense with the fascinating Congleton for a while. I don’t like him.

She (after a pause). Do you know what you have said?

He ’Can’t say that I do exactly. I’m not in the best of tempers.

She So I see,—and feel. My true and faithful lover, where is your ‘eternal constancy,’ ‘unalterable trust,’ and ‘reverent devotion’? I remember those phrases; you seem to have forgotten them. I mention a man’s name—

He. A good deal more than that.

She. Well, speak to him about a dance—perhaps the last dance that I shall ever dance in my life before I,—before I go away; and you at once distrust and insult me.

He. I never said a word.

She. How much did you imply? Guy, is this amount of confidence to be our stock to start the new life on?

He. No, of course not. I didn’t mean that. On my word and honour, I didn’t. Let it pass, dear. Please let it pass.

She. This once—yes—and a second time, and again and again, all through the years when I shall be unable to resent it. You want too much, my Lancelot, and,—you know too much.

He. How do you mean?

She. That is a part of the punishment. There cannot be perfect trust between us.

He. In Heaven’s name, why not?

She. Hush! The Other Place is quite enough. Ask yourself.

He. I don’t follow.

She. You trust me so implicitly that when I look at another man—Never mind. Guy, have you ever made love to a girl—a good girl?

He. Something of the sort. Centuries ago—in the Dark Ages, before I ever met you, dear.

She. Tell me what you said to her.

He. What does a man say to a girl? I’ve forgotten.

She. I remember. He tells her that he trusts her and worships the ground she walks on, and that he’ll love and honour and protect her till her dying day; and so she marries in that belief. At least, I speak of one girl who was not protected.

He. Well, and then?