MELISANDE.  Kingsley, Mother, not Tennyson.

JANE (nodding).  Kingsley, that’s right.

MRS. KNOWLE.  Well, it’s the same thing.  I know when my mother used to call me I used to come running up, saying, “What is it, Mummy, darling?” And even if it was anything upstairs, like a handkerchief or a pair of socks to be mended, I used to trot off happily, saying to myself, “Do noble things, not dream them all day long.”

MELISANDE.  I am sorry, Mother.  What is the noble thing you want doing?

MRS. KNOWLE.  Well now, you see, I’ve forgotten.  If only you’d come at once, dear—­

MELISANDE.  I was looking out into the night.  It’s a wonderful night. 
Midsummer Night.

MRS. KNOWLE.  Midsummer Night.  And now I suppose the days will start drawing in, and we shall have winter upon us before we know where we are.  All these changes of the seasons are very inconsiderate to an invalid.  Ah, now I remember what I wanted, dear.  Can you find me another cushion?  Dr. Anderson considers it most important that the small of the back should be well supported after a meal. (Indicating the place) Just here, dear.

JANE (jumping up with the cushion from her chair).  Let me, Aunt Mary.

MRS. KNOWLE.  Thank you, Jane.  Just here, please. (JANE arranges it.)

JANE.  Is that right?

MRS. KNOWLE.  Thank you, dear.  I only do it for Dr. Anderson’s sake.

(JANE goes back to her book and MELISANDE goes back to her Midsummer
Night.  There is silence for a little.)

MRS. KNOWLE.  Oh, Sandy . . .  Sandy!

JANE.  Melisande!

MELISANDE (coming patiently down to them).  Yes, Mother?

MRS. KNOWLE.  Oh, Sandy, I’ve just remembered—­(MELISANDE shudders.) What is it, darling child?  Are you cold?  That comes of standing by the open window in a treacherous climate like this.  Close the window and come and sit down properly.

MELISANDE.  It’s a wonderful night, Mother.  Midsummer Night.  I’m not cold.

MRS. KNOWLE.  But you shuddered.  I distinctly saw you shudder.  Didn’t you see her, Jane?

JANE.  I’m afraid I wasn’t looking, Aunt Mary.

MELISANDE.  I didn’t shudder because I was cold.  I shuddered because you will keep calling me by that horrible name.  I shudder every time I hear it.

MRS. KNOWLE (surprised).  What name, Sandy?

MELISANDE.  There it is again.  Oh, why did you christen me by such a wonderful, beautiful, magical name as Melisande, if you were going to call me Sandy?

MRS. KNOWLE.  Well, dear, as I think I’ve told you, that was a mistake of your father’s.  I suppose he got it out of some book.  I should certainly never have agreed to it, if I had heard him distinctly.  I thought he said Millicent—­after your Aunt Milly.  And not being very well at the time, and leaving it all to him, I never really knew about it until it was too late to do anything.  I did say to your father, “Can’t we christen her again?” But there was nothing in the prayer book about it except “riper years,” and nobody seemed to know when riper years began.  Besides, we were all calling you Sandy then.  I think Sandy is a very pretty name, don’t you, Jane?