ALICE, practising on him instead of the cushion, ‘You darling boy!’ COSMO. ‘I think I hear a boy calling the evening papers.’ ALICE, clinging to him, ‘Don’t go. There can be nothing in the evening papers about what my boy thinks of his mother.’ COSMO. ‘Good lord, no.’ He thinks quickly. ‘You haven’t seen Amy yet. It isn’t fair of Amy. She should have been here to take some of it off me.’ ALICE. ‘Cosmo, you don’t mean that I bore you too!’ He is pained. It is now he who boldly encircles her. But his words, though well meant, are not so happy as his action. ‘I love you, mother; and _I_ don’t think you’re so yellow.’ ALICE, the belle of many stations, ‘Yellow?’ Her brain reels. ‘Cosmo, do you think me plain?’ COSMO, gallantly, ‘No, I don’t. I’m not one of the kind who judge people by their looks. The soul, you know, is what I judge them by.’ ALICE. ‘Plain? Me.’ COSMO, the comforter, ‘Of course it’s all right for girls to bother about being pretty.’ He lures her away from the subject. ‘I can tell you a funny thing about that. We had theatricals at Osborne one night, and we played a thing called “The Royal Boots.”’ ALICE, clapping her hands, ‘_I_ played in that, too, last year.’ COSMO. ‘You?’ ALICE. ‘Yes. Why shouldn’t I?’ COSMO. ‘But we did it for fun.’ ALICE. ‘So did we.’ COSMO, his views on the universe crumbling, ‘You still like fun?’ ALICE. ‘Take care, Cosmo.’ COSMO. ‘But you’re our mother.’ ALICE. ‘Mustn’t mothers have fun? COSMO, heavily, ‘Must they? I see. You had played the dowager.’ ALICE. ‘No, I didn’t. I played the girl in the Wellington boots.’ COSMO, blinking, ‘Mother, _I_ played the girl in the Wellington boots.’ ALICE, happily, ‘My son--this ought to bring us closer together.’ COSMO, who has not yet learned to leave well alone, ‘But the reason I did it was that we were all boys. Were there no young ladies where you did it, mother?’ ALICE. ‘Cosmo.’ She is not a tamed mother yet, and in sudden wrath she flips his face with her hand. He accepts it as a smack. The Colonel foolishly chooses this moment to make his return. He is in high good-humour, and does not observe that two of his nearest relatives are glaring at each other. COLONEL, purring offensively, ‘It’s all right now, Alice; she took to me at once.’ ALICE, tartly, ‘Oh, did she!’ COLONEL. ‘Gurgled at me--pulled my moustache.’ ALICE. ‘I hope you got on with our dear son as well.’ COLONEL. ‘Isn’t he a fine fellow.’ ALICE. ‘_I_ have just been smacking his face.’ She sits down and weeps, while her son stands haughtily at attention. COLONEL, with a groan, ‘Hst, I think you had better go and get that evening paper.’ Cosmo departs with his flag flying, and the bewildered husband seeks enlightenment. ‘Smacked his face. But why, Alice?’ ALICE. ‘He infuriated me.’ COLONEL. ‘He seems such a good boy.’ ALICE, the lowly, ‘No doubt he is. It must be very trying to have me for a mother.’ COLONEL. ‘Perhaps you were too demonstrative?’