MELISANDE.  After I had promised that I wouldn’t say anything, you went and told her!  And then I suppose you went and told the cook, and she said that her brother’s young woman was just the same, and then you told the butcher, and he said, “You stick to it, sir.  All women are alike.  My missis said ‘No’ to me the first time.”  And then you went and told the gardeners—­I suppose you had all the gardeners together in the potting-shed, and gave them a lecture about it—­and when you had told them, you said, “Excuse me a moment, I must now go and tell the postman,” and then—­

BOBBY.  I say, steady; you know that isn’t fair.

MELISANDE.  Oh, what a world!

BOBBY.  I say, you know that isn’t fair.

MELISANDE (picking up her book).  Father and Jane are outside, Bobby, if you have anything you wish to tell them.  But I suppose they know already. (She pretends to read.)

BOBBY.  I say, you know—­(He doesn’t quite know what to say.  There is an awkward silence.  Then he says humbly) I’m awfully sorry, Melisande.  Please forgive me.

MELISANDE (looking at him gravely).  That’s nice of you, Bobby.  Please forgive me.  I wasn’t fair.

BOBBY.  I swear I never said anything to anybody else, only your mother.  And it sort of came out with her.  She began talking about you—­

MELISANDE. I know.

BOBBY.  But I never told anybody else.

MELISANDE.  It wouldn’t be necessary if you told Mother.

BOBBY.  I’m awfully sorry, but I really don’t see why you should mind so much.  I mean, I know I’m not anybody very much, but I can’t help falling in love with you, and—­well, it is a sort of a compliment to you, isn’t it?—­even if it’s only me.

MELISANDE.  Of course it is, Bobby, and I do thank you for the compliment.  But mixing Mother up in it makes it all so—­so unromantic.  (After a pause) Sometimes I think I shall never marry.

BOBBY.  Oh, rot! . . .  I say, you do like me, don’t you?

MELISANDE.  Oh yes.  You are a nice, clean-looking Englishman—­I don’t say beautiful—­

BOBBY.  I should hope not!

MELISANDE.  Pleasant, good at games, dependable—­not very clever, perhaps, but making enough money—­

BOBBY.  Well, I mean, that’s not so bad.

MELISANDE.  Oh, but I want so much more!

BOBBY.  What sort of things?

MELISANDE.  Oh, Bobby, you’re so—­so ordinary!

BOBBY.  Well, dash it all, you didn’t want me to be a freak, did you?

MELISANDE.  So—­commonplace.  So—­unromantic.

BOBBY.  I say, steady on!  I don’t say I’m always reading poetry and all that, if that’s what you mean by romantic, but—­commonplace!  I’m blessed if I see how you make out that.

MELISANDE.  Bobby, I don’t want to hurt your feelings—­

BOBBY.  Go on, never mind my feelings.