Camille. [Shrugging her shoulders] I can’t tell, Monsieur.

     She collects the cups, and halts close to him. [Softly] Monsieur
     is not ’appy.

Builder. [Surprised] What?  No!  Who’d be happy in a household like mine?

Camille.  But so strong a man—­I wish I was a strong man, not a weak woman.

Builder. [Regarding her with reluctant admiration] Why, what’s the matter with you?

Camille.  Will Monsieur have another glass of brandy before I take it?

Builder.  No!  Yes—­I will.

     She pours it out, and he drinks it, hands her the glass and sits
     down suddenly in an armchair.  Camille puts the glass on a tray, and
     looks for a box of matches from the mantelshelf.

Camille.  A light, Monsieur?

Builder.  Please.

Camille. [She trips over his feet and sinks on to his knee] Oh! 
Monsieur!

     Builder flames up and catches her in his arms

Oh!  Monsieur—­

Builder.  You little devil!

She suddenly kisses him, and he returns the kiss.  While they are engaged in this entrancing occupation, Mrs builder opens the door from the hall, watches unseen for a few seconds, and quietly goes out again.

Builder. [Pushing her back from him, whether at the sound of the door or of a still small voice] What am I doing?

Camille.  Kissing.

Builder.  I—­I forgot myself.

     They rise.

Camille.  It was na-ice.

Builder.  I didn’t mean to.  You go away—­go away!

Camille.  Oh!  Monsieur, that spoil it.

Builder. [Regarding her fixedly] It’s my opinion you’re a temptation of the devil.  You know you sat down on purpose.

Camille.  Well, perhaps.

Builder.  What business had you to?  I’m a family man.

Camille.  Yes.  What a pity!  But does it matter?

Builder. [Much beset] Look here, you know!  This won’t do!  It won’t do!  I—­I’ve got my reputation to think of!

Camille.  So ’ave I!  But there is lots of time to think of it in between.

Builder.  I knew you were dangerous.  I always knew it.

Camille.  What a thing to say of a little woman!

Builder.  We’re not in Paris.

Camille. [Clasping her hands] Oh!  ’Ow I wish we was!

Builder.  Look here—­I can’t stand this; you’ve got to go.  Out with you! 
I’ve always kept a firm hand on myself, and I’m not going to—­

Camille.  But I admire you so!

Builder.  Suppose my wife had come in?

Camille.  Oh!  Don’t suppose any such a disagreeable thing!  If you were not so strict, you would feel much ’appier.