BOBBY (eagerly).  Yes, that’s just it.  It takes a bit of living up to. 
I say, have a cigarette, won’t you?

JANE.  No, thank you.  Of course, I’m very fond of Melisande, but I do feel sometimes that I don’t altogether envy the man who marries her.

BOBBY.  I say, do you really feel that?

JANE.  Yes.  She’s too (getting the right word at last)—­too romantic.

BOBBY.  You’re about right, you know.  I mean she talks about doing deeds of derring-do.  Well, I mean that’s all very well, but when one marries and settles down—­you know what I mean?

JANE.  Exactly.  That’s just how I feel about it.  As I said to Melisande only this evening, this is the twentieth century.  Well, I happen to like the twentieth century.  That’s all.

BOBBY.  I see what you mean.

JANE.  It may be very unromantic of me, but I like men to be keen on games, and to wear the clothes that everybody else wears—­as long as they fit well, of course—­and to talk about the ordinary things that everybody talks about.  Of course, Melisande would say that that was very stupid and unromantic of me——­

BOBBY.  I don’t think it is at all.

JANE.  How awfully nice of you to say that, Bobby.  You do understand so wonderfully.

BOBBY (with a laugh).  I say, that’s rather funny.  I was just thinking the same about you.

JANE.  I say, were you really?  I’m so glad.  I like to feel that we are really friends, and that we understand each other.  I don’t know whether I’m different from other girls, but I don’t make friends very easily.

BOBBY.  Do you mean men or women friends?

JANE.  Both.  In fact, but for Melisande and you, I can hardly think of any—­not what you call real friends.

BOBBY.  Melisande is a great friend, isn’t she?  You tell each other all your secrets, and that sort of thing, don’t you?

JANE.  Yes, we’re great friends, but there are some things that I could never tell even her. (Impressively) I could never show her my inmost heart.

BOBBY.  I don’t believe about your not having any men friends.  I bet there are hundreds of them, as keen on you as anything.

JANE.  I wonder.  It would be rather nice to think there were.  That sounds horrid, doesn’t it, but a girl can’t help wanting to be liked.

BOBBY.  Of course she can’t; nobody can.  I don’t think it’s a bit horrid.

JANE.  How nice of you. (She gets up) Well, I must be going, I suppose.

BOBBY.  What’s the hurry?

JANE.  Aunt Mary.  She said five minutes.

BOBBY.  And how long will you be with her?  You’ll come down again, won’t you?

JANE.  No, I don’t think so.  I’m rather tired this evening. (Holding out her hand) Good-night, Bobby.

BOBBY (taking it).  Oh, but look here, I’ll come and light your candle for you.

JANE.  How nice of you!