LOB (bursting into tears). I wanted you to go. I had set my heart on your going. It is the thing I wanted, and it isn't good for me not to get the thing I want. (He creeps under the table and threatens the hands that would draw him out.) MRS. COADE. Good gracious, he has wanted it all the time. You wicked Lob! ALICE. Now, you see there _is_ something in it. COADE. Nonsense, Mrs. Dearth, it was only a joke. MABEL (melting). Don't cry, Lobby. LOB. Nobody cares for me--nobody loves me. And I need to be loved. (Several of them are on their knees to him.) JOANNA. Yes, we do, we all love you. Nice, nice Lobby. MABEL. Dear Lob, I am so fond of you. JOANNA. Dry his eyes with my own handkerchief. (He holds up his eyes but is otherwise inconsolable.) LADY CAROLINE. Don't pamper him. LOB (furiously). I need to be pampered. MRS. COADE. You funny little man. Let us go at once and look for his wood. (All feel that thus alone can his tears be dried.) JOANNA. Boots and cloaks, hats forward. Come on, Lady Caroline, just to show you are not afraid of Matey. (There is a general exodus, and LOB left alone emerges from his temporary retirement. He ducks victoriously, but presently is on his knees again distressfully regarding some flowers that have fallen from their bowl.) LOB. Poor bruised one, it was I who hurt you. Lob is so sorry. Lie there! (To another.) Pretty, pretty, let me see where you have a pain? You fell on your head; is this the place? Now I make it better. Oh, little rascal, you are not hurt at all; you just pretend. Oh dear, oh dear! Sweetheart, don't cry, you are now prettier than ever. You were too tall. Oh, how beautifully you smell now that you are small. (He replaces the wounded tenderly in their bowl.) rink, drink. Now, you are happy again. The little rascal smiles. All smile, please--nod heads--aha! aha! You love Lob--Lob loves you. (JOANNA and MR. PURDIE stroll in by the window.) JOANNA. What were you saying to them, Lob? LOB. I was saying 'Two's company, three's none.' (He departs with a final cluck.) JOANNA. That man--he suspects! (This is a very different JOANNA from the one who has so far flitted across our scene. It is also a different PURDIE. In company they seldom look at each other, though when the one does so the eyes of the other magnetically respond. We have seen them trivial, almost cynical, but now we are to greet them as they know they really are, the great strong-hearted man and his natural mate, in the grip of the master passion. For the moment LOB'S words have unnerved JOANNA and it is JOHN PURDIE's dear privilege to soothe her.) PURDIE. No one minds Lob. My dear, oh my dear. JOANNA (faltering). Yes, but he saw you kiss my hand. Jack, if Mabel were to suspect! PURDIE (happily). There is nothing for her to suspect. JOANNA (eagerly). No, there isn't, is there? (She is desirous ever to be without a flaw.) Jack, I am not doing anything wrong, am I? PURDIE. You!