Always your own,

Clementina.”

THE FELLOW:  (Collapsing in a heap on the bench.) CLEMENTINA!!

THE GIRL:  (Folding up the letter and looking at him in utter scorn.) So that’s where you got the name!  So you were thinking of the writer of this letter when you addressed ME by the name of Clementina a while ago.  Simply outrageous! (She stamps her feet.)

THE FELLOW:  (With a groan.) Oh, Lord!  I just happened to say “Clementina” because I thought it was a pretty name.  Won’t you believe me?  I don’t know who this Clementina is.  I never saw the writer of that letter in all my life.  That letter was meant for Tommy Higgins.  This suit of clothes—­

THE GIRL:  (Interrupting.) Don’t even attempt to make ridiculous explanations.  Don’t make yourself more of a liar than you have already proved.  I won’t listen to another word from you.  I didn’t want to listen to you in the first place.  Here is your affinity’s letter, sir. (She hands it to him.  He takes it and stuffs it angrily into the coat pocket.) Now, let me have my parasol, please, and my glove. (She reaches for the parasol, but he catches it up and holds it behind his back, as he rises from the bench.)

THE FELLOW:  You shall not go away until you hear what I want to say.  Tommy Higgins—­

THE GIRL:  Oh, bother Tommy Higgins!

THE FELLOW:  Yes.  That’s what I say—­only stronger.  But listen, please—­

THE GIRL:  Don’t discuss the matter further.  My parasol and glove; sir! (She is facing him angrily.)

THE FELLOW:  Oh, come now.  Don’t be so hard on a fellow.  I tell you that letter wasn’t written to me.  What if I should search your pockets and find a letter that belonged to somebody else?  How would you feel about it?

THE GIRL:  You would never find anything in MY pockets that I am ashamed of—­that is, if I HAD any pockets.  But I have no pockets.

THE FELLOW:  (Pointing with one hand at the right side of her jacket.) I beg your pardon.  It seems that you know how to tell ’em, too.  What’s that, if it isn’t a pocket?

THE GIRL:  (In embarrassment.) Oh—­yes—­so it is. (Aside.) I had forgotten that I was wearing Genevieve’s suit.

THE FELLOW:  Well, turn about is fair play, isn’t it?  I’m going to search your pocket now.

THE GIRL:  You mean to insinuate that I have anything in my pocket of a compromising nature?  How dare you!

THE FELLOW:  You won’t believe ME!  Why should I believe you?  For all I know, you may be a far different kind of girl than I took you to be.

THE GIRL:  (Very angry.) You are insulting, sir.  But since I stooped so low as to search your pockets, I will give you the satisfaction of searching mine—­and then that will be an end of our acquaintance.  You can then go your way—­and I’ll go my way.

THE FELLOW:  We’ll see about that.  Hold up your hands.