MRS. KNOWLE (in a whisper).  Don’t take any notice of me.  I only just came for my handkerchief. (She continues to walk on tiptoe towards the opposite door.)

MELISANDE (getting up).  We were just wondering where you were, Mother. 
Here’s your handkerchief. (She picks it up from the sofa.)

MRS. KNOWLE (still in the voice in which you speak to an invalid). 
Thank you, dear.  Don’t let me interrupt you—­I was just going—­

MELISANDE.  But I am just going into the garden.  Stay and talk to
Bobby, won’t you?

MRS. KNOWLE (with a happy smile, hoping for the best).  Yes, my darling.

MELISANDE (going to the windows).  That’s right. (She stops at the windows and holds out her hands to the night)—­

The moon shines bright:  In such a night as this
When the sweet wind did gently kiss the trees
And they did make no noise, in such a night
Troilus methinks mounted the Troyan walls,
And sighed his soul towards the Grecian tents,
Where Cressid lay that night.  In such a night
Stood Dido with a willow in her hand,
Upon the wild sea banks, and waft her love
To come again to Carthage.

(She stays there a moment, and then says in a thrilling voice) In such a night!  Ah!

    [She goes to it.

MRS. KNOWLE (in a different voice).  Ah! . . .  Well, Mr. Coote?

BOBBY (turning back to her with a start).  Oh—­er—­yes?

MRS. KNOWLE.  No, I think I must call you Bobby.  I may call you Bobby, mayn’t I?

BOBBY.  Oh, please do, Mrs. Knowle.

MRS. KNOWLE (archly).  Not Mrs. Knowle!  Can’t you think of a better name?

BOBBY (wondering if he ought to call her MARY).  Er—­I’m—­I’m afraid I don’t quite—­

MRS. KNOWLE.  Mother.

BOBBY.  Oh, but I say—­

MRS. KNOWLE (giving him her hand).  And now come and sit on the sofa with me, and tell me all about it.

(They go to the sofa together.)

BOBBY.  But I say, Mrs. Knowle—­

MRS. KNOWLE (shaking a finger playfully at him).  Not Mrs. Knowle,
Bobby.

BOBBY.  But I say, you mustn’t think—­I mean Sandy and I—­we aren’t—­

MRS. KNOWLE.  You don’t mean to tell me, Mr. Coote, that she has refused you again.

BOBBY.  Yes.  I say, I’d much rather not talk about it.

MRS. KNOWLE.  Well, it just shows you that what I said the other day was true.  Girls don’t know their own minds.

BOBBY (ruefully).  I think Sandy knows hers—­about me, anyhow.

MRS. KNOWLE.  Mr. Coote, you are forgetting what the poet said—­Shakespeare, or was it the other man?—­“Faint heart never won fair lady.”  If Mr. Knowle had had a faint heart, he would never have won me.  Seven times I refused him, and seven times he came again—­like Jacob.  The eighth time he drew out a revolver, and threatened to shoot himself.  I was shaking like an aspen leaf.  Suddenly I realised that I loved him.  “Henry,” I said, “I am yours.”  He took me in his arms—­putting down the revolver first, of course.  I have never regretted my surrender, Mr. Coote. (With a sigh) Ah, me!  We women are strange creatures.