HILDEGARDE (alarmed).  You didn’t tell him I’m Sampson Straight?  TRANTO.  Can you imagine me doing such a thing?

HILDEGARDE.  I hope not.  Shall I tell you what I think of the situation?

TRANTO.  I wish you would.

HILDEGARDE.  I think such situations would never arise if parents weren’t so painfully unromantic.  I’m not speaking particularly of papa and mamma.  I mean all parents.  But take mamma.  She’s absolutely matter-of-fact.  And papa’s nearly as bad.  Of course I know they’re always calling each other by pet names; but that’s mere camouflage for their matter-of-factness.  Whereas if they both had in them a little of the real romance of life—­everything would be different.  At the same time I needn’t say that in this affair that we’re now in the middle of—­there’s no question of ratiocination.

TRANTO.  Of what?

HILDEGARDE.  Ratiocination.  Reasoning.  On either side.

TRANTO.  Oh no!

HILDEGARDE.  It’s simply a question of mutual attitude, isn’t it?  Now, if only—.  But there!  What’s the use?  Parents are like that, poor dears!  They have forgotten! (With emphasis.) They have forgotten—­what makes life worth living.

TRANTO.  You mean, for instance, your mother never sits on your father’s knee.

HILDEGARDE (bravely, after hesitation).  Yes!  Crudely—­that’s what I do mean.

TRANTO.  Miss Hildegarde, you are the most marvellous girl I ever met.  You are, really!  You seem to combine all qualities.  It’s amazing to me.  I’m more and more astounded.  Every time I come here there’s a fresh revelation.  Now you mention romance.  I’m glad you mentioned it first.  But I saw it first.  I saw it in your eyes the first time I ever met you.  Yes!  Miss Hilda, do you see it in mine?  Look.  Look closely. (Approaching her.) Because it’s there.  I must tell you.  I can’t wait any longer. (Feeling for her hand, vainly.)

HILDEGARDE (drawing back).  Mr. Tranto, is this the way you treat father?

Enter Mr. Culver, back.

CULVER (quickly).  Hilda, go to your mother.  She’s upstairs. 
HILDEGARDE.  What am I to do?

CULVER.  I don’t know. (With meaning.) Think what the sagacious Sampson
Straight would do, and do that.

(Hildegarde gives a sharp look first at Culver, and then at Tranto, and exit, back.)

CULVER (turning to Tranto).  My dear fellow, the war is practically over.

TRANTO.  Good heavens!  There was nothing on the tape when I left the Club.

CULVER.  Oh!  I don’t mean your war.  I mean the twenty-two years’ war.

TRANTO.  The twenty-two years’ war?

CULVER.  My married life.  Over!  Finished!  Napoo!

TRANTO.  Do you know what you’re saying?

CULVER.  Look here, Tranto.  You and I don’t belong to the same generation.  In fact, if I’d started early enough I might have been your father.  But we got so damned intimate last night, and I’m in such a damned hole, and you’re so damned wise, that I feel I must talk to you.  Not that it’ll be any use.