VAUGHAN. Rot! You may put that idea out of your head, Bannal. Poor as this play is, theres the note of passion in it. You feel somehow that beneath all the assumed levity of that poor waif and stray, she really loves Bobby and will be a good wife to him. Now Ive repeatedly proved that Shaw is physiologically incapable of the note of passion. BANNAL. Yes, I know. Intellect without emotion. Thats right. I always say that myself. A giant brain, if you ask me; but no heart. GUNN. Oh, shut up, Bannal. This crude medieval psychology of heart and brain--Shakespear would have called it liver and wits--is really schoolboyish. Surely weve had enough of second-hand Schopenhauer. Even such a played-out old back number as Ibsen would have been ashamed of it. Heart and brain, indeed! VAUGHAN. You have neither one nor the other, Gunn. Youre decadent. GUNN. Decadent! How I love that early Victorian word! VAUGHAN. Well, at all events, you cant deny that the characters in this play were quite distinguishable from one another. That proves it's not by Shaw, because all Shaw's characters are himself: mere puppets stuck up to spout Shaw. It's only the actors that make them seem different. BANNAL. There can be no doubt of that: everybody knows it. But Shaw doesnt write his plays as plays. All he wants to do is to insult everybody all round and set us talking about him. TROTTER. [wearily] And naturally, here we are all talking about him. For heaven's sake, let us change the subject. VAUGHAN. Still, my articles about Shaw-- GUNN. Oh, stow it, Vaughan. Drop it. What Ive always told you about Shaw is-- BANNAL. There you go, Shaw, Shaw, Shaw! Do chuck it. If you want to know my opinion about Shaw-- TROTTER. | No, please, we dont. | | | VAUGHAN. | Shut your head, Bannal. | [yelling] | | GUNN. | Oh, do drop it. | _The deafened Count puts his fingers in his ears and flies from the centre of the group to its outskirts, behind Vaughan._ BANNAL. [sulkily] Oh, very well. Sorry I spoke, I'm sure. TROTTER. | Shaw-- | | | [beginning again VAUGHAN. | Shaw-- | simultaneously] | | GUNN. | Shaw-- | _They are cut short by the entry of Fanny through the curtains. She is almost in tears._ FANNY. [coming between Trotter and Gunn] I'm so sorry, gentlemen. And it was such a success when I read it to the Cambridge Fabian Society! TROTTER. Miss O'Dowda: I was about to tell these gentlemen what I guessed before the curtain rose: that you are the author of the play. [General amazement and consternation]. FANNY. And you all think it beastly. You hate it. You think I'm a conceited idiot, and that I shall never be able to write anything decent. _She is almost weeping. A wave of sympathy carries away the critics._