Frank [quite softened, and looking at Praed with romantic admiration] Of course.  I forgot.  Ever so thanks for reminding me.  Perfect gentleman, Praddy.  Always were.  My ideal through life. [He rises to go, but pauses a moment between the two older men, and puts his hand on Praed’s shoulder].  Ah, if you had only been my father instead of this unworthy old man! [He puts his other hand on his father’s shoulder].

Rev.  S. [blustering] Silence, sir, silence:  you are profane.

Mrs Warren [laughing heartily] You should keep him in better order, Sam.  Good-night.  Here:  take George his hat and stick with my compliments.

Rev.  S. [taking them] Good-night. [They shake hands.  As he passes Vivie he shakes hands with her also and bids her good-night.  Then, in booming command, to Frank] Come along, sir, at once. [He goes out].

Mrs Warren.  Byebye, Praddy.

Praed. Byebye, Kitty.

[They shake hands affectionately and go out together, she accompanying him to the garden gate.]

Frank [to Vivie] Kissums?

Vivie [fiercely] No.  I hate you. [She takes a couple of books and some paper from the writing-table, and sits down with them at the middle table, at the end next the fireplace].

Frank [grimacing] Sorry. [He goes for his cap and rifle.  Mrs Warren returns.  He takes her hand] Good-night, dear Mrs Warren. [He kisses her hand.  She snatches it away, her lips tightening, and looks more than half disposed to box his ears.  He laughs mischievously and runs off, clapping-to the door behind him].

Mrs Warren [resigning herself to an evening of boredom now that the men are gone] Did you ever in your life hear anyone rattle on so?  Isn’t he a tease? [She sits at the table].  Now that I think of it, dearie, don’t you go encouraging him.  I’m sure he’s a regular good-for-nothing.

Vivie [rising to fetch more books] I’m afraid so.  Poor Frank!  I shall have to get rid of him; but I shall feel sorry for him, though he’s not worth it.  That man Crofts does not seem to me to be good for much either:  is he? [She throws the books on the table rather roughly].

Mrs Warren [galled by Vivie’s indifference] What do you know of men, child, to talk that way of them?  Youll have to make up your mind to see a good deal of Sir George Crofts, as he’s a friend of mine.

Vivie [quite unmoved] Why? [She sits down and opens a book].  Do you expect that we shall be much together?  You and I, I mean?

Mrs Warren [staring at her] Of course:  until youre married.  Youre not going back to college again.

Vivie.  Do you think my way of life would suit you?  I doubt it.

Mrs Warren.  Y o u r way of life!  What do you mean?

Vivie [cutting a page of her book with the paper knife on her chatelaine] Has it really never occurred to you, mother, that I have a way of life like other people?