_Ventnor_. Eh? Well, the great thing, you see, is to keep one’s self out of reach of the housemaid’s brush. _(A pause.)_ If you’re married you can’t--always. _(Smiling.)_ Don’t you hate to be taken down and dusted? _Mrs. Dale (with intention)_. You forget how long ago my husband died. It’s fifteen years since I’ve been an object of interest to anybody but the public. _Ventnor (smiling)_. The only one of your admirers to whom you’ve ever given the least encouragement! _Mrs. Dale_. Say rather the most easily pleased! _Ventnor_. Or the only one you cared to please? _Mrs. Dale_. Ah, you _haven’t_ kept my letters! _Ventnor (gravely)_. Is that a challenge? Look here, then! _(He drams a packet from his pocket and holds it out to her.)_ _Mrs. Dale (taking the packet and looking at him earnestly)_. Why have you brought me these? _Ventnor_. I didn’t bring them; they came because I came--that’s all. _(Tentatively.)_ Are we unwelcome? _Mrs. Dale (who has undone the packet and does not appear to hear him)_. The very first I ever wrote you--the day after we met at the concert. How on earth did you happen to keep it? _(She glances over it.)_ How perfectly absurd! Well, it’s not a compromising document. _Ventnor_. I’m afraid none of them are. _Mrs. Dale (quickly)_. Is it to that they owe their immunity? Because one could leave them about like safety matches?--Ah, here’s another I remember--I wrote that the day after we went skating together for the first time. _(She reads it slowly.)_ How odd! How very odd! _Ventnor_. What? _Mrs. Dale_. Why, it’s the most curious thing--I had a letter of this kind to do the other day, in the novel I’m at work on now--the letter of a woman who is just--just beginning-- _Ventnor_. Yes--just beginning--? _Mrs. Dale_. And, do you know, I find the best phrase in it, the phrase I somehow regarded as the fruit of--well, of all my subsequent discoveries--is simply plagiarized, word for word, from this! _Ventnor (eagerly)_. I told you so! You were all there! _Mrs. Dale (critically)_. But the rest of it’s poorly done--very poorly. _(Reads the letter over.)_ H’m--I didn’t know how to leave off. It takes me forever to get out of the door. _Ventnor (gayly)_. Perhaps I was there to prevent you! _(After a pause.)_ I wonder what I said in return? _Mrs. Dale (interested)_. Shall we look? _(She rises.)_ Shall we--really? I have them all here, you know. _(She goes toward the cabinet.)_ _Ventnor (following her with repressed eagerness)_. Oh--all! _Mrs. Dale (throws open the door of the cabinet, revealing a number of packets)_. Don’t you believe me now? _Ventnor_. Good heavens! How I must have repeated myself! But then you were so very deaf. _Mrs. Dale (takes out a packet and returns to her seat. Ventnor extends an impatient hand for the letters)_. No--no; wait! I want to find your answer to the one I was just reading. _(After a pause.)_ Here it is--yes, I thought so! _Ventnor_. What did you think?