Part 2

(_Dreamily._) I write corking verses, and I read them with a corking voice. (_With passion._) Oh, Bill! Oh, my dear——

BILL.

Yes?

LADY PATRICIA.

How I wish that you and I were alone on a little island in the Ægean Archipelago!... Hush! (_The sound of a motor in the distance._) Do you hear? A motor-car coming up the drive! You can see if you look through the branches there. (_Points to the left._) Be careful, dear. Don’t let any one see you.

BILL.

(_Looking over the rail of the platform._) Great Scott!

LADY PATRICIA.

Yes?

BILL.

It’s the mater’s car, and——

(_The sound of the motor stops._)

LADY PATRICIA.

It’s stopping! Oh, Bill——

BILL.

The mater and Michael, and the Dean—and who’s the jolly-looking girl?

LADY PATRICIA.

With a face like a naughty boy’s?

BILL.

Yes.

LADY PATRICIA.

That must be Clare Lesley. Michael has been very kind to her lately. He is trying to give her a serious view of life.

BILL.

I say, you don’t mean to tell me that’s Clare, the Dean’s daughter? Why, I thought she was a flapper!

LADY PATRICIA.

A flapper?...

BILL.

Yes. When last I saw her, a little more than a year ago, her skirts weren’t much below her knees, and——

LADY PATRICIA.

Flapper.... What a strange word! How do you spell it? With a “ph”?

BILL.

No, with a double p. Hullo!

(_He draws back._)

LADY PATRICIA.

What is it?

BILL.

They’re all coming here!

LADY PATRICIA.

No!

BILL.

They are, by Jove! The whole crowd. What shall we do?

LADY PATRICIA.

Your mother and Michael mustn’t find you here. You must fly!

BILL.

That’s all very well. But where can I go to? They’re bound to spot me if I get down the steps.

LADY PATRICIA.

Oh, but can’t you climb somewhere up the tree and hide yourself like a bird among the branches?

BILL.

What?...

LADY PATRICIA.

It’s the only thing to do. And so simple! And so romantic!

BILL.

Yes, that’s all right. But supposing they see me—what am I to say?

LADY PATRICIA.

Oh, anything! Use a little imagination.... Say you are looking for birds’ eggs. But they won’t see you if you lie along that thick branch up there.

BILL.

Birds’-nesting....

LADY PATRICIA.

I shall pretend to be asleep.

BILL.

Why?

LADY PATRICIA.

Why not?

BILL.

(_Grumbling as he moves towards the trunk._) I’ll look such a bally ass if they spot me....

LADY PATRICIA.

Bill!

BILL.

Eh?

LADY PATRICIA.

This glass mustn’t be found here.

BILL.

By Jove!

(_He returns and takes hold of the glass, which is half-full._)

LADY PATRICIA.

And the cup and saucer....

BILL.

Good Lord!

(_He stands helplessly, the cup and saucer in one hand, the glass in the other._)

LADY PATRICIA.

Put them into your pockets.

BILL.

But——

LADY PATRICIA.

Quick—quick! (_He drinks the whisky._) Now the tea. (_He makes as though to throw it away._) No! no! they might see or hear. Drink it.

BILL.

I really couldn’t.

LADY PATRICIA.

For my sake.

BILL.

(_Gulping it down._) Muck! (_Making for the tree._) By Jove, they’re nearly here!

LADY PATRICIA.

(_Pointing to the left._) I really must have another ladder built on this side.

BILL.

I hope they won’t see me climbing.

(_He starts climbing the tree._)

LADY PATRICIA.

Be small—for my sake....

(_She composes herself elaborately into a sleeping posture. BILL is seen disappearing on high. Voices are audible beneath. A pause._)

BILL.

(_He has climbed out of sight._) I say....

LADY PATRICIA.

S-sh!...

BILL.

It’s all right. They’re standin’ about talkin’. Can you see me?

LADY PATRICIA.

Where are you?

BILL.

Here.

LADY PATRICIA.

Oh, yes, I see....

BILL.

The devil you do! What part o’ me?

LADY PATRICIA.

Er—well—your—your back....

BILL.

Damn! Oh, confound this beastly cup and saucer! They keep on rattling.

LADY PATRICIA.

Put the saucer in the other pocket.

BILL.

The glass is in the other pocket.

LADY PATRICIA.

Have you only two pockets?

BILL.

Hush! they’re coming.

(_The voices approach. LADY PATRICIA arranges herself, one hand supporting her face, the other hanging over the side of the chair lightly holding a manuscript. MRS. O’FARREL enters, followed by CLARE LESLEY, DEAN LESLEY, and MICHAEL COSWAY. MRS. O’FARREL is a genuine, downright, humorous lady of fifty-seven; CLARE LESLEY, the DEAN’S daughter, a pretty girl of about twenty; DEAN LESLEY, a clerical exquisite, who carries his sixty years as lightly as his silver-knobbed stick and monocle; and MICHAEL COSWAY, LADY PATRICIA’S husband, a tall, serious man of thirty-eight._)

MRS. O’FARREL.

(_Out of breath._) Ah.... I’m green with envy of you, Dean! You’re at least five years my senior, and your wind is as sound as your doctrines. Look at me! I can’t climb a tree without getting—what’s the word, Clare?

CLARE.

Punctured.

DEAN.

My dear child!

MRS. O’FARREL.

Scold me, Dean, scold me! I meant the word, but hadn’t the pluck to say it.

(_The DEAN laughs._)

MICHAEL.

And how do you like our little eyrie, Mrs. O’Farrel?

MRS. O’FARREL.

Charming, Michael, charming! It’s quite worth getting—getting—give me the word, Clare.

CLARE.

Winded.

MRS. O’FARREL.

(_Laughs and pats CLARE’S cheek._) Yes, it’s quite worth getting punctured—and winded—to see the view from here, Michael. How like you and Patricia to think of such a piece of arboreal sentimentality! Now whose idea—— (_Perceives LADY PATRICIA for the first time._) Why, Patricia!

(_MICHAEL with an exclamation rushes to LADY PATRICIA’S side. CLARE looks bored._)

DEAN.

Delightful!

MICHAEL.

S-sh.... She’s asleep....

MRS. O’FARREL.

Asleep! I should think she was, for my strident voice not to awake her!

CLARE.

Perhaps she’s shamming.

DEAN.

My dear child!

MICHAEL.

(_In a solemn whisper._) We must be very careful not to wake her. She had a bad headache this morning.... _See how she leans her cheek upon her hand!_

DEAN.

_I would I were a glove upon that hand!_

MRS. O’FARREL.

Dean!

CLARE.

Shocking!

DEAN.

And why? I love all that is beautiful with all my senses.... And why shouldn’t I?

MRS. O’FARREL.

Because such youthful depravity makes me envious again.

DEAN.

Pardon me, my dear lady, I remember you far too well as a girl to believe that even now—

MRS. O’FARREL.

(_Hastily._) Michael!... Will you and Clare take the car and meet Bill’s train? It won’t take you ten minutes; I’m too comfortable to move at present. Besides, we must have the place to ourselves, the Dean and I, as he is becoming indiscreetly reminiscent. Bring Bill back with you here, and he and I will drive home together.... You don’t mind?

MICHAEL.

I shall be delighted.

CLARE.

I’m not surprised you want to get rid of me, pater, if you’re going to talk about your gay youth. You must have been an awful rip.

DEAN.

Really, Clare!

MRS. O’FARREL.

It was my gay youth your father was threatening us with.

CLARE.

You must have been a dear then, as now!...

(_She kisses MRS. O’FARREL impulsively, and goes out past MICHAEL. MICHAEL follows her, turns and comes back with a twig of oak in his hand. He gives it to the DEAN._)

MICHAEL.

Will you kindly keep the flies off Patricia’s face while I’m away?

DEAN.

Oh, delighted! Delighted!

(_MICHAEL goes out. MRS. O’FARREL looks with amusement at the DEAN, who stands with the twig in his hand glancing quizzically at her and longingly at LADY PATRICIA._)

MRS. O’FARREL.

When duty and pleasure are combined, there’s no reason to hesitate. I saw a fly settle on Patricia’s chin.

DEAN.

Happy fly!

(_He tiptoes up to PATRICIA and starts fanning her and daintily examining her through his eyeglass. MRS. O’FARREL puts up her lorgnette and regards them with vast amusement. Suddenly a rotten branch falls from above on to the platform._)

MRS. O’FARREL.

(_Lorgnetting upwards._) How very strange! And not a breath of wind!

DEAN.

(_Monocling upwards._) Merely a squirrel. I believe I caught sight of its tail.

MRS. O’FARREL.

I hope the tree’s not rotten. I’m considerably heavier than a squirrel!

(_She goes over to the DEAN._)

DEAN.

Oh, softly, please....

MRS. O’FARREL.

(_Laughing._) Softly yourself!

DEAN.

(_Pointing to PATRICIA._) Did you ever see the like?

MRS. O’FARREL.

What are you talking about?

DEAN.

The wonder of this sleeping woman. Was there ever anything more beautiful?

MRS. O’FARREL.

I thought you knew better than to praise one woman to another.

DEAN.

Oh, but you are not another! You are Eileen who, ever since I met her in short skirts, have been the fairest of all.

MRS. O’FARREL.

Fiddle-de-dee! I’m old and ugly!

DEAN.

No woman can ever be old and ugly—you least of all.

MRS. O’FARREL.

Charming old humbug! Well, I agree with you—Patricia’s certainly ornamental.

DEAN.

The pose, my dear lady, the pose! Unstudied grace of abandonment, artless perfection! Perfection as a whole, perfection in detail! Consider the right hand: so blissfully burdened. Consider the left: still clasping some poem only less exquisite than itself. The eyelids are faintly blue—surely with the sky of a delicate dream. From head to foot every curve is a lyric—from head—I should like to see her foot.

(_He looks sadly at her covered feet._)

MRS. O’FARREL.

Haven’t you the courage?

DEAN.

I beg your pardon?

MRS. O’FARREL.

To look at it.

DEAN.

Mrs. O’Farrel!

MRS. O’FARREL.

Well, if I admired her feet as much as you do, I shouldn’t hesitate.

DEAN.

But supposing she woke and found me—er—er—

MRS. O’FARREL.

Arranging her skirt?... My dear man, I know Patricia; she would gladly show you several inches of her ankle.

DEAN.

Eileen, you’re a wicked woman!

(_They move to the other side of the platform._)

MRS. O’FARREL.

And you’re a scandalous example of clerical depravity!

(_LADY PATRICIA looks cautiously over her shoulder at them, yawns, and pretends to sleep again._)

DEAN.

Tut, tut, tut, my dear!... Eileen, do you know why I went into the Church?

MRS. O’FARREL.

You thought it a convenient cloak for your peccadilloes.

DEAN.

Out of sheer gratitude to my Maker for creating woman.... Eileen, why did you refuse to marry me?

MRS. O’FARREL.

There must be at least half a dozen flies on Patricia’s face.

DEAN.

Never mind the flies—it’s their turn for the moment.... Why did you refuse me, Eileen?

MRS. O’FARREL.

Because my love for you made me a blind fool! I misunderstood your admiration for women. I thought your homage of every girl you met, personal—not universal, as I learned too late—a superb compliment to the whole sex. Dear friend, I repented in sackcloth and ashes! Not that O’Farrel wasn’t a good fellow, every inch of him. He made life very happy. But life with you—well, I missed it!

DEAN.

Will you marry me, Eileen?

MRS. O’FARREL.

No.

DEAN.

Why not?

MRS. O’FARREL.

I’m far too old for a boy like you.

DEAN.

Is this final?

MRS. O’FARREL.

Final.

DEAN.

Ah!... Your companionship would have been so good for Clare. A tactfully restraining influence....

MRS. O’FARREL.

I doubt it. I’m too much in sympathy with the child.

DEAN.

But you wouldn’t encourage her to tell every one she meets—including the Bishop—that she is an Atheist, or ride astride through the town without the formality of—er—divided skirts....

MRS. O’FARREL.

No—perhaps not. (_She lowers her voice._) I should first of all put a stop to her galavantin’ about every other day with Michael.

DEAN.

Really, my dear Eileen, I think the friendship between Michael Cosway and Clare is wholly charming and can only do the child good. Surely you don’t——

MRS. O’FARREL.

No, of course I don’t! Michael’s far too infatuated with your sleeping beauty there. Still, I’d put a stop to it. And then I should marry your daughter to Bill with indecent haste.

DEAN.

Eh, what? Your son? Dear me!

MRS. O’FARREL.

Why shouldn’t they marry? They are obviously kindred spirits.

DEAN.

I don’t know your son sufficiently well to—er——

MRS. O’FARREL.

A thoroughly healthy, young animal.... You’ll meet him in a moment. I hear the motor....

DEAN.

How quick they’ve been!... Marry them! Dear me!

MRS. O’FARREL.

Now then, Mr. Dean, to work!

DEAN.

I don’t quite——

MRS. O’FARREL.

Patricia’s flies! If Michael catches you idling!

DEAN.

Now, fancy my forgetting it!

(_They both laugh. He hurries back to LADY PATRICIA and starts fanning her. Voices are audible beneath._)

MRS. O’FARREL.

(_Looking over the railing._) But where’s Bill? (_She hurries towards the entrance and calls down._) Have you people dropped my only son out of the car?

(_CLARE enters, followed by MICHAEL._)

CLARE.

He never turned up!

MRS. O’FARREL.

Nonsense! He wired from Southampton that——

MICHAEL.

S-s-sh! You might wake Patricia!

MRS. O’FARREL.

Oh, confound Patricia!

CLARE.

But——

(_Suddenly a saucer falls from above on to the middle of the platform. They all are startled and PATRICIA sits up with a cry._)

DEAN.

Dear me!

MRS. O’FARREL.

Well, I never!

MICHAEL.

What on earth!

CLARE.

There’s some one up the tree!

MRS. O’FARREL.

The squirrel.... (_Looks at the DEAN._)

DEAN.

Most awkward....

MICHAEL.

Don’t be alarmed, Patricia. (_Sternly._) Who are you, sir? What are you doing there? Come down at once.... Do you hear me, sir?

BILL.

(_Still invisible to the audience._) All right—I’m coming....

CLARE.

There he is, Mike! I see his leg!

MRS. O’FARREL.

(_To herself._) Mike? Hm!

MICHAEL.

Bill!

BILL.

(_From aloft._) Hullo!

(_Astonished exclamations of “What!” and “Bill!”_)

MRS. O’FARREL.

Bill?

(_BILL comes into sight descending the trunk._)

Bill!

(_BILL reaches terra firma. He smiles, embarrassed, from one person to the other._)

BILL.

How are you, mother? How-de-do, Mr. Dean? How-de-do, Miss Lesley? How’s yourself, Michael?

LADY PATRICIA.

And have you no greeting for poor me, Cousin Bill?

BILL.

Oh, I say, I’m awfully sorry! How-de-do, Cousin Patricia?

MRS. O’FARREL.

But what on earth were you doing up the tree?

BILL.

Birds’-nesting.

MRS. O’FARREL, MICHAEL, DEAN.

Birds’-nesting?

CLARE.

(_Gravely._) And you took a saucer up with you to put the eggs in?

BILL.

Oh, did I?

CLARE.

Of course. It’s the usual thing to do when you go birds’-nesting. Didn’t you always take a saucer with you as a boy, Mr. Cosway?

MICHAEL.

I can’t say I remember doing so.

CLARE.

So long ago that you’ve forgotten? I’ve read somewhere that when they look for ostrich-eggs in America they take soup-tureens.

BILL.

I say ...!

MICHAEL.

There are no ostriches in America.

CLARE.

Then I wonder why they look for ostrich-eggs.

MRS. O’FARREL.

(_Laughing._) Do stop talking nonsense, Clare!... Really, Bill, I’m curious to know quite a lot of things. Why did you take an earlier train? Why did you come here? Why did you climb up the tree with a saucer? Why did you let Michael and Miss Lesley fetch you at the station? And why did you remain in the tree while the Dean and I—er——

DEAN.

Talked over old times together.

MRS. O’FARREL.

Talked over old times together. It’s all rather mysterious.

DEAN.

Unusual....

BILL.

I dropped a rotten branch.

MRS. O’FARREL.

Quite so. And the Dean thought a squirrel had done it.

BILL.

Oh yes, you caught sight of my tail!

(_He goes into a shout of lonely laughter._)

MRS. O’FARREL.

That’s all very well. But what was your idea in playing such a prank? It seems to me rather childish.

DEAN.

Primitive....

MICHAEL.

Very.

CLARE.

Quite.

LADY PATRICIA.

(_With disarming vivacity._) Oh, my dear, dear friends, why do you take this so heavily? Surely a charming piece of boyishness! May I tell them what happened, Cousin Bill? I saw through the whole thing at once.

BILL.

I’m sure you did.

LADY PATRICIA.

He so longed to see his mother that he came down by an earlier train.... Didn’t you, Cousin Bill?

BILL.

That’s right.

LADY PATRICIA.

But when he arrived he found she had gone to a garden party. He was so disappointed.... Weren’t you, Cousin Bill?

BILL.

That’s right.

LADY PATRICIA.

Did you learn to say “that’s right” in America? It sounds so successful.... When he found his mother was out, he thought he would come and see Michael and—me. Michael had gone to the garden party, but he was told that I was here. He found me asleep....

CLARE.

(_Imitating LADY PATRICIA’S voice and manner._) And he kissed me—didn’t you, Cousin Bill?

(_BILL goes into a shout of long and lonely laughter._)

LADY PATRICIA.

(_In a pained voice._) He found me asleep. I had not been feeling very well....

MICHAEL.

Are you better, my darling?

LADY PATRICIA.

Thank you, Michael dear, a little better.... He found me asleep. He was thirsty, poor fellow! So he helped himself to tea. Providentially, Ellis had brought two cups. Then he saw you all coming, and thought it would be “such jolly fun” to climb up the tree and drop a saucer.... Didn’t you?

CLARE.

—Cousin Bill.

(_BILL laughs._)

LADY PATRICIA.

He had meant to do it at once. But he couldn’t resist the joke of letting Clare and Michael fetch him at the station. And when they had gone he simply had to wait till they came back again—or, perhaps, the Dean and Aunt Eileen were so enjoying each other’s company, he hadn’t the heart to disturb them.... Then Clare and Michael returned, and he thought the joke had gone far enough.

CLARE.

So he threw a saucer at us.

(_BILL indulges in a third lonely laugh._)

MICHAEL.

(_Shortly._) Crown Derby....

BILL.

Sorry.

LADY PATRICIA.

Isn’t that more or less the true story, Cousin Bill?

BILL.

I say, what an awfully clever woman you are!

LADY PATRICIA.

Am I?... I wonder!

MRS. O’FARREL.

Clever at writing verses, Patricia. But prose fiction’s not in your line. (_PATRICIA smiles pityingly and examines her rings._) Bill we must be off. There’s barely time to dress, and some people are dining with us to-night.

BILL.

All right, mother. (_He goes to CLARE._) I say, Miss Lesley, when last we met you had long hair.

CLARE.

(_Gravely._) I still have long hair, Mr. O’Farrel.

BILL.

Oh, but what I meant was——

LADY PATRICIA.

(_To CLARE._) Your father tells me you are dining with us, Clare. I’m so glad!

CLARE.

If you don’t mind me in this dress, Lady Patricia. Mr. Cosway has promised to show me the—er—what’s its name?

MICHAEL.

The spiral nebula in Andromeda.

BILL.

How much?

MICHAEL.

A cluster of minute stars in the constellation of Andromeda. I say stars designedly. For I differ from many authorities in believing this nebula to be irresolvable or gaseous. Indeed, the remarkable observations of Sir William McKechnie leave no doubt in my mind that this so-called nebula is an external galaxy. In which case——

BILL.

Oh, help! So you still rot about with a telescope, Michael?

MICHAEL.

(_Coldly._) I am greatly interested in astronomy.

BILL.

(_To CLARE._) You, too?

CLARE.

I like the stars....

(_She turns loftily from him and talks to MRS. O’FARREL and MICHAEL._)

LADY PATRICIA.

(_To the DEAN._) I’m so sorry! (_To CLARE._) I was trying to persuade your father to stay with you, Clare. But he’s bent on putting finishing-touches to to-morrow’s sermon.

MICHAEL.

(_To the DEAN._) I’ll see Miss Lesley home, of course.

MRS. O’FARREL.

Can we drop you at the Deanery?

DEAN.

It’s very kind of you.

MRS. O’FARREL.

Come along, Bill. Good-bye, all!

(_She goes out. The DEAN shakes hands with LADY PATRICIA and follows her._)

BILL.

(_To PATRICIA, in a low voice._) I’ve left the cup and glass up the tree. (_Aloud._) Good-bye, Cousin Patricia.

LADY PATRICIA.

Good-bye, Cousin Bill.

BILL.

Good-bye, Clare.

CLARE.

(_Haughtily._) Clare?

BILL.

Yes. (_To MICHAEL, in passing._) Sorry about the saucer. Good-bye.

CLARE.

Cheek!

(_He goes out. A pause. Voices are heard below and the sound of a departing motor. MICHAEL waves good-bye._)

LADY PATRICIA.

(_Stretching out her arms._) Michael!

MICHAEL.

(_Putting his arms about her._) Patricia! And the poor head is really better, darling? I’m so glad you were able to sleep!

(_CLARE looks at them with bored contempt, shrugs her shoulders, goes to the tree, and starts climbing up it during the following._)

LADY PATRICIA.

And my sleep was full of dreams, Michael. Strange and mystic dreams—oh, and such beautiful dreams! For they all led up to a vision of my dearest’s face.

(_CLARE has vanished aloft._)

MICHAEL.

Heart of my heart!

LADY PATRICIA.

Soul of my soul!

MICHAEL.

Patricia....

LADY PATRICIA.

Michael....

(_BALDWIN enters unnoticed with his saw and garden shears. He stares fixedly up the tree._)

MICHAEL.

One night I shall find a new star in the depths of the sky——

LADY PATRICIA.

One day I shall write a poem that will ring down the ages——

MICHAEL.

And the star shall be called Patricia.

LADY PATRICIA.

And the poem—Michael.

MICHAEL.

(_Lingering on the word._) Patricia!

LADY PATRICIA.

(_Lingering on the word._) Michael!

BALDWIN.

Beggin’ yer pardon, sir, but there be summin’ white movin’ about up the tree.

LADY PATRICIA.

Baldwin!

BALDWIN.

It a’most looks to me as though a young lady ’ad climbed up the tree, sir.

MICHAEL.

What on earth——!

CLARE.

(_Shrilly from above._) Don’t you dare to look up here, Baldwin—nor you, Mi—Mr. Cosway! If there’s something white to be seen it’s certainly not for you to look at! (_BALDWIN continues stolidly looking up._) D’you hear me, Baldwin? Oh! Tell him to turn his head somewhere else.

MICHAEL.

Baldwin!

BALDWIN.

Yessir?

LADY PATRICIA.

But, my dear child, what are you doing there?

CLARE.

Birds’-nesting.

MICHAEL AND LADY PATRICIA.

Birds’-nesting!

CLARE.

I don’t believe there’s a nest here at all. He was simply kidding us.

BALDWIN.

If it’s h’eggs you’re wantin’, miss, there’s a rare lot of ’em in the ivy up at the ’ouse. Sparrers—drat’em!

LADY PATRICIA.

(_To MICHAEL._) What an amazing young creature! (_To CLARE._) But you’ll ruin your frock, my child.

CLARE.

I can’t help that. I mean to find out whether there’s a nest here or not. Besides, I simply couldn’t hang around while you and Mr. Cosway were canoodleing.

LADY PATRICIA.

(_Puzzled._) Canoodleing?

CLARE.

Spooning.

LADY PATRICIA.

How very vulgar you can be!

CLARE.

Can’t I!

LADY PATRICIA.

(_Shrugs her shoulders and speaks to MICHAEL with a plaintive languor._) I think it would be very pleasant to dine here, Michael. I’ll go indoors and change into something warmer.

MICHAEL.

You’re not cold, my love?

LADY PATRICIA.

No, no, dear, no. But I might be later on. (_To BALDWIN, who has been staring fixedly into the branches._) What are you doing, Baldwin?

BALDWIN.

It’s main ’ard to keep a h’eye on the sun, m’lady, an’ mine ain’t no longer w’at they was. Might I arst, mum, if the sun’s ’bout right for loppin’ off they branches?

MICHAEL.

Lopping off the branches?

CLARE.

(_From above._) Oh! I’ve found a cup!

MICHAEL.

A cup!

CLARE.

And a glass!

MICHAEL.

A cup and a glass!

LADY PATRICIA.

(_Languidly._) Oh, I suppose Cousin Bill left them up there. You needn’t trouble to bring them down, Clare. Baldwin can fetch them.

CLARE.

He seems to have been doing himself uncommonly well. I daresay I shall find plates, knives and forks, napkins and finger-bowls. What ho!

MICHAEL.

(_To LADY PATRICIA._) Has that fellow gone quite off his head?

LADY PATRICIA.

(_Going out._) Bill? Oh, no, dear! Oh, no! It’s only youth—youth will out! Beautiful rose-white youth!

(_She gives him her hand to kiss, and he looks after her with a fatuous smile so long as she is in sight. Then you hear her singing below_:)