MAUD. [Lowering newspaper and trying to appear at ease.] It’s quite a trick, isn’t it?  I often practise it.  I’m real clever at it, you know.

FITZSIMMONS. [Grunts, then adds.] Seems to me I have seen you before.

MAUD. [Glancing quickly from his face to portrait and back again.] Yes, and I know you—­You are Robert Fitzsimmons.

FITZSIMMONS. I thought I knew you.

MAUD.  Yes, it was out in San Francisco.  My people still live there.  I’m just—­ahem—­doing New York.

FITZSIMMONS. But I don’t quite remember the name.

MAUD.  Jones—­Harry Jones.

FITZSIMMONS. [Hugely delighted, leaping from chair and striding over to her.] Sure. [Slaps her resoundingly on shoulder.]

[She is nearly crushed by the weight of the blow, and at the same time shocked.  She scrambles to her feet.]

FITZSIMMONS. Glad to see you, Harry. [He wrings her hand, so that it hurts.] Glad to see you again, Harry. [He continues wringing her hand and pumping her arm.]

MAUD. [Struggling to withdraw her hand and finally succeeding.  Her voice is rather faint.] Ye-es, er . . .  Bob . . . er . . . glad to see you again. [She looks ruefully at her bruised fingers and sinks into chair.  Then, recollecting her part, she crosses her legs in a mannish way.]

FITZSIMMONS. [Crossing to desk at right, against which he leans, facing her.] You were a wild young rascal in those San Francisco days. [Chuckling.] Lord, Lord, how it all comes back to me.

MAUD. [Boastfully.] I was wild—­some.

FITZSIMMONS. [Grinning.] I should say!  Remember that night I put you to bed?

MAUD. [Forgetting herself, indignantly.] Sir!

FITZSIMMONS. You were . . . er . . . drunk.

MAUD.  I never was!

FITZSIMMONS. Surely you haven’t forgotten that night!  You began with dropping champagne bottles out of the club windows on the heads of the people on the sidewalk, and you wound up by assaulting a cabman.  And let me tell you I saved you from a good licking right there, and squared it with the police.  Don’t you remember?

MAUD. [Nodding hesitatingly.] Yes, it is beginning to come back to me. 
I was a bit tight that night.

FITZSIMMONS. [Exultantly.] A bit tight!  Why, before I could get you to bed you insisted on telling me the story of your life.

MAUD.  Did I?  I don’t remember that.

FITZSIMMONS. I should say not.  You were past remembering anything by that time.  You had your arms around my neck—­

MAUD. [Interrupting.] Oh!

FITZSIMMONS. And you kept repeating over and over, “Bob, dear Bob.”

MAUD. [Springing to her feet.] Oh!  I never did! [Recollecting herself.] Perhaps I must have.  I was a trifle wild in those days, I admit.  But I’m wise now.  I’ve sowed my wild oats and steadied down.