Ferrand. [Approaching the picture.] Ah!  You are always working at this.  You will have something of very good there, Monsieur.  You wish to fix the type of wild savage existing ever amongst our high civilisation.  ‘C’est tres chic ca’! [Wellwyn manifests the quiet delight of an English artist actually understood.] In the figures of these good citizens, to whom she offers her flower, you would give the idea of all the cage doors open to catch and make tame the wild bird, that will surely die within.  ‘Tres gentil’!  Believe me, Monsieur, you have there the greatest comedy of life!  How anxious are the tame birds to do the wild birds good. [His voice changes.] For the wild birds it is not funny.  There is in some human souls, Monsieur, what cannot be made tame.

Wellwyn.  I believe you, Ferrand.

     [The face of a young man appears at the window, unseen. 
     Suddenly Ann opens the door leading to the house.]

Ann.  Daddy—­I want you.

Wellwyn. [To Ferrand.] Excuse me a minute!

[He goes to his daughter, and they pass out.  Ferrand remains at the picture.  Mrs. Megan dressed in some of ANN’s discarded garments, has come out of the model’s room.  She steals up behind Ferrand like a cat, reaches an arm up, and curls it round his mouth.  He turns, and tries to seize her; she disingenuously slips away.  He follows.  The chase circles the tea table.  He catches her, lifts her up, swings round with her, so that her feet fly out; kisses her bent-back face, and sets her down.  She stands there smiling.  The face at the window darkens.]

Ferrand.  La Valse!

[He takes her with both hands by the waist, she puts her hands against his shoulders to push him of—­and suddenly they are whirling.  As they whirl, they bob together once or twice, and kiss.  Then, with a warning motion towards the door, she wrenches herself free, and stops beside the picture, trying desperately to appear demure.  Wellwyn and Ann have entered.  The face has vanished.]

Ferrand. [Pointing to the picture.] One does not comprehend all this, Monsieur, without well studying.  I was in train to interpret for Ma’moiselle the chiaroscuro.

Wellwyn. [With a queer look.] Don’t take it too seriously, Ferrand.

Ferrand.  It is a masterpiece.

Wellwyn.  My daughter’s just spoken to a friend, Professor Calway. 
He’d like to meet you.  Could you come back a little later?

Ferrand.  Certainly, Ma’moiselle.  That will be an opening for me, I trust. [He goes to the street door.]

Ann. [Paying no attention to him.] Mrs. Megan, will you too come back in half an hour?

Ferrand.  ‘Tres bien, Ma’moiselle’!  I will see that she does.  We will take a little promenade together.  That will do us good.