FANNY. You never tried the door for yourself, dear. [_She pretends to rearrange something on the mantelpiece—any excuse to turn away her face for a moment_. _She turns to him again_, _smiling_.] It was a mistake, the whole thing. You were partly to blame. You were such a nice boy. I “fancied” you—to use George’s words. [_She laughs_.] And when a woman wants a thing, she is apt to be a bit unscrupulous about how she gets it. [_She moves about the room_, _touching the flowers_, _rearranging a cushion_, _a vase_.] I didn’t invent the bishop; that was George’s embroidery. [_Another laugh_.] But, of course, I ought to have told you everything myself. I ought not to have wanted a man to whom it would have made one atom of difference whether my cousins were scullery-maids or not. Somehow, I felt that to you it might. [_Vernon winces_.] It’s natural enough. You have a big position to maintain. I didn’t know you were a lord—that was your doing. George did find it out, but he never told me; least of all, that you were Lord Bantock—or you may be pretty sure I should have come out with the truth, if only for my own sake. It hasn’t been any joke for me, coming back here. VERNON. Yes. I can see they’ve been making things pretty hard for you. FANNY. Oh, they thought they were doing their duty. [_He is seated_. _She comes up behind him_, _puts her hands on his shoulders_.] I want you to take them all back again. I want to feel I have made as little commotion in your life as possible. It was just a little mistake. And everybody will say how fortunate it was that she took herself off so soon with that—[_She was about to say_ “_that theatrical Johnny_,” _thinking of Newte_. _She checks herself_.] And you will marry somebody belonging to your own class. And those are the only sensible marriages there are. VERNON. Have you done talking? FANNY. Yes! Yes, I think that’s all. VERNON. Then perhaps you’ll let me get in a word. You think me a snob? [_Fanny makes a movement_.] As a matter of fact, I am. FANNY. No, that’s not fair. You wouldn’t have married a girl off the music-hall stage. VERNON. Niece of a bishop, cousin to a judge. Whether I believed it or not, doesn’t matter. The sham that isn’t likely to be found out is as good as the truth, to a snob. If he had told me your uncle was a butler, I should have hesitated. That’s where the mistake began. We’ll go back to that. Won’t you sit down? [_Fanny sits_.] I want you to stop. There’ll be no mistake this time. I’m asking my butler’s niece to do me the honour to be my wife. FANNY. That’s kind of you.