THE GIRL:  (Darting furious glances at him and holding her hands over her head.) Very well, sir.  Hurry up, please, and have it over with. (THE FELLOW very deliberately goes to bench, leans the parasol up against it, just as THE GIRL had done before, and imitating the business-like way in which she had gone through his pockets, he comes up to her and pushes up his coat sleeves, as if preparing for a serious piece of business.)

THE FELLOW:  (Still mimicing her manner.) I don’t suppose you’ve ever been held up before?

THE GIRL:  (Icily.) No—­you are the first burglar I have ever met.

THE FELLOW:  Promise to hold your hands up until I have finished?

THE GIRL:  (Scornfully.) Of course, I’m a girl of my word.

THE FELLOW:  All right then. (He deliberately kisses her squarely on the lips, while her hands are held up over her head.  She gives a cry and starts to drop her hands and push him away, but he catches her arms and gently holds them up over her head again.) No, no, I’m not through yet.

THE GIRL:  You are a brute.  You are not worthy to associate with a respectable girl. (THE FELLOW thrusts his hands into the pocket of her jacket and puns out a box of cigarettes and a letter.  He holds them up before her horrified eyes.)

THE FELLOW:  Well.  I’ll be—­(He starts to say “damned,” but stops just in time.  THE GIRL’S arms drop limply to her sides, and with eyes staring in complete bewilderment she staggers to the bench and collapses down upon it.)

THE GIRL:  Good heavens!

THE FELLOW:  (Blinking his eyes at the articles which he holds before him.) What innocent playthings!  A box of Pall Malls and a letter—­no doubt, an affinity letter. (He shakes his head, soberly.) Well, well!  And you just said I wasn’t fit to associate with you.

THE GIRL:  (Her breast heaving in great agitation.) Oh, this is a terrible mistake!  What could Genevieve have been doing with those things?

THE FELLOW:  (Turning on her, quickly.) Genevieve?

THE GIRL:  Yes, Genevieve.

THE FELLOW:  Genevieve Patterson.

THE GIRL:  Yes, Genevieve Patterson—­the girl you know—­my best friend.  Oh, can’t you understand?  Those things don’t belong to me.  They are—­(She stops abruptly, bites her lips, clasps her hands.  Then says, aside.) Oh, what am I doing?  I mustn’t allow Genevieve’s reputation to be ruined.  I might as well take the blame and brave it out myself.  This situation is frightful. (She turns to him again.) I can’t explain, but don’t—­oh, please don’t think that I—­that I—­(She stops, looking as if she is about to cry.)

THE FELLOW:  (Again looking at the articles and shaking his head.) And you always looked like such a nice girl, too.  Cigarettes—­and—­ (He opens up the letter.)

THE GIRL:  (Suddenly springing to her feet.) You must not read that letter.  It does not belong to me.  You have no right to read that letter.