Miss T.—I don't get so many dances that I shall confuse them. You will be the offender.
Captain G.—Wait and see! (Aside.) She doesn't dance perfectly, perhaps, but
Miss T.—Your tea must have got cold by this time. Won't you have another cup?
Captain G.—No, thanks. Don't you think it's pleasanter out in the veranda? (Aside.) I never saw hair take that colour in the sunshine before. (Aloud.) It's like one of Dicksee's pictures.
Miss T.—Yes! It's a wonderful sunset, isn't it? (Bluntly.) But what do you know about Dicksee's pictures?
Captain G.—I go Home occasionally. And I used to know the Galleries. (Nervously.) You mustn't think me only a Philistine with—a moustache.
Miss T.—Don't! Please don't. I'm so sorry for what I said then. I was horribly rude. It slipped out before I thought. Don't you know the temptation to say frightful and shocking things just for the mere sake of saying them? I'm afraid I gave way to it.
Captain G. (watching the girl as she flushes.)—I think I know the feeling. It would be terrible if we all yielded to it, wouldn't it? For instance, I might say
Poor Dear Mamma (entering, habited, hatted, and booted.)—Ah, Captain Gadsby? 'Sorry to keep you waiting. 'Hope you hav'n't been bored. 'My little girl been talking to you?
Miss T. (aside).—I'm not sorry I spoke about the rheumatism. I'm not! I'm not! I only wished I'd mentioned the corns too.
Captain G. (aside).—What a shame! I wonder how old she is. It never occurred to me before. (Aloud.) We've been discussing "Shakespeare and the musical glasses" in the verandah.
Miss T. (aside).—Nice man! He knows that quotation. He isn't a Philistine with a moustache. (Aloud.) Good-bye, Captain Gadsby. (Aside.) What a huge hand, and what a squeeze! I don't suppose he meant it, but he has driven the rings into my fingers.
