THE MONSTER (_desperately advancing to the window as though to assault a battery_): Beautiful! beautiful! THE YOUNG LADY (_looking at him_): Ha, ha, ha! THE MONSTER: But I love you, flowering pear tree; I love you, golden harvest; I love you, fruitage of summer; I love you, body and limbs, with the shape of a saint’s thought. THE YOUNG LADY (_redoubles her laughter_): Ha, ha, ha! THE MONSTER (_taking her hand_): You cannot be cruel! (_He is seized with a violent paroxysm of coughing which doubles him up, which shakes and torments him. The handkerchief he holds to his mouth is spotted with blood._) THE YOUNG LADY: You disgust me! (_She draws away her skirts so that they shall not come in contact with him._) THE MONSTER: But I swear to you, I love—I—— (_He is once more interrupted by his cough._) THE YOUNG LADY: Please go away. (_In a different voice_) Ah, Roger! (_She advances to meet a snub-nosed lubber with curly hair and a face like a groom’s, who passes along the street at this moment._) ROGER: I’ve got the motor-bike waiting at the corner. THE YOUNG LADY: Let’s go, then. ROGER (_pointing to the_ MONSTER): What’s that? THE YOUNG LADY: Oh, it’s nothing in particular. (_Both roar with laughter._ ROGER _escorts her out, patting her familiarly on the back as they walk along._) THE MONSTER (_looking after her_): There is a wound under my left pap. She has deflowered all women. I cannot.... “Lord!” whispered Mrs. Viveash, “how this young man bores me!” “I confess,” replied Gumbril, “I have rather a taste for moralities. There is a pleasant uplifting vagueness about these symbolical generalized figures which pleases me.” “You were always charmingly simple-minded,” said Mrs. Viveash. “But who’s this? As long as the young man isn’t left alone on the stage, I don’t mind.” Another female figure has appeared in the street beyond the window. It is the Prostitute. Her face, painted in two tones of red, white, green, blue and black, is the most tasteful of _nature-mortes_. THE PROSTITUTE: Hullo, duckie! THE MONSTER: Hullo! THE PROSTITUTE: Are you lonely? THE MONSTER: Yes. THE PROSTITUTE: Would you like me to come in to see you? THE MONSTER: Very well. THE PROSTITUTE: Shall we say thirty bob? THE MONSTER: As you like. THE PROSTITUTE: Come along then. (_She climbs through the window and they go off together through the door on the left of the stage. The curtains descend for a moment, then rise again. The_ MONSTER _and the_ PROSTITUTE _are seen issuing from the door at which they went out._) THE MONSTER (_taking out a cheque-book and a fountain pen_): Thirty shillings.... THE PROSTITUTE: Thank you. Not a cheque. I don’t want any cheques. How do I know it isn’t a dud one that they’ll refuse payment for at the bank? Ready money for me, thanks.