THE FELLOW:  But you read the letter that didn’t belong to me.

THE GIRL:  It did belong to you.

THE FELLOW:  It didn’t!

THE GIRL:  DID!

THE FELLOW:  Didn’t!

THE GIRL:  (Running forward and trying to grab the letter, which he holds out of her reach.) I forbid you to read that letter.  I swear to you, it is not mine.

THE FELLOW:  (Still holding it out of her reach and looking it over.) By George!  You are right—­it is NOT yours.  It is MINE!

THE GIRL:  YOURS?

THE FELLOW:  Yes, mine.  It’s the very message I sent to Genevieve Patterson yesterday—­the letter in which I asked for an introduction to you. (He hands it to her.) Here—­read it yourself, if you don’t believe me this time. (THE GIRL wonderingly takes the letter and reads it to herself, her lips moving and her eyes wide open in surprise.)

THE GIRL:  (As she finishes she looks sweetly up at him.) Then you are NOT such a liar after all.  You did tell me the truth.

THE FELLOW:  Nothing but the truth.

THE GIRL:  But what about that other letter?

THE FELLOW:  (Taking her by the shoulder and speaking quickly.) Now, you’ve got to listen.  That other letter was written to Tommy Higgins.  I was caught in the shower last night, and had to borrow this suit of clothes from Tommy.

THE GIRL:  (A glad smile gradually coming over her face.) O-h-h!

THE FELLOW:  But how did you come to have my letter written to
Genevieve?

THE GIRL:  Oh, don’t you understand? (She looks at him beseechingly.)

THE FELLOW:  (The truth suddenly striking him.) Oh-h-h-!  I see!  You got caught in the shower, too.  You borrowed that tailor-made suit from Genevieve.

THE GIRL:  Can you doubt it?

THE FELLOW:  But the cigarettes?

THE GIRL:  I can’t account for them.  I only know—­

THE FELLOW:  Never mind.  I don’t care. (He stuffs the cigarettes into his own pocket and grasps both of her hands in his own.) Tell me—­you don’t think I’m the biggest liar in the world, do you?

THE GIRL:  (Archly.) No—­not quite.

THE FELLOW:  (Slipping his arm around her.) And if you were married—­to—­to a fellow like me, you’d make him an awfully good wife, wouldn’t you?

THE GIRL:  (Laughing.).  No—­I’d try to make HIM a good husband. (He bends over and is just about to kiss her when a MAN’S VOICE is heard off stage to the Right.)

MAN’S VOICE:  (Off stage.) Hey, there, Miss—­your trunk has come.  (THE FELLOW and THE GIRL spring apart, guiltily.)

THE FELLOW:  (Bitterly.) Just when I had it all cinched. (THE GIRL runs to the bench, picks up her parasol, still laughing.)

THE GIRL:  It’s the wagon from the railroad station, with my clothes from town.  Good-bye. (She starts off, Right.)