CROCKSTEAD. [_Quite undisturbed._] Oh, please! That won't help us, you know. Do sit down. I assure you I have never proposed before, so that naturally I am a trifle nervous. Of course I know that we are only supers really, without much of a speaking part; but the spirit moves me to gag, in the absence of the stage-manager, who is, let us say, the Duchess-- ALINE. I have heard of the New Humour, Mr. Crockstead, though I confess I have never understood it. This may be an exquisite example-- CROCKSTEAD. By no means. I am merely trying to do the right thing, though perhaps not the conventional one. Before making you the formal offer of my hand and fortune, which amounts to a little over three millions-- ALINE. [_Fanning herself._] How people exaggerate! Between six and seven, _I_ heard. CROCKSTEAD. Only three at present, but we must be patient. Before throwing myself at your feet, metaphorically, I am anxious that you should know something of the man whom you are about to marry. ALINE. That is really most considerate! CROCKSTEAD. I have the advantage of you, you see, inasmuch as you have many dear friends, who have told me all about you. ALINE. [_With growing exasperation, but keeping very cool._] Indeed? CROCKSTEAD. I am aware, for instance, that this is your ninth season-- ALINE. [_Snapping her fan._] You are remarkably well-informed. CROCKSTEAD. I have been told that again to-night, three times, by charming young women who vowed that they loved you. Now, as I have no dearest friends, it is unlikely that you will have heard anything equally definite concerning myself. I propose to enlighten you. ALINE. [_Satirically._] The story of your life--how thrilling! CROCKSTEAD. I trust you may find it so. [_He sits, and pauses for a moment, then begins, very quietly._] Lady Aline, I am a self-made man, as the foolish phrase has it--a man whose early years were spent in savage and desolate places, where the devil had much to say; a man in whom whatever there once had been of natural kindness was very soon kicked out. I was poor, and lonely, for thirty-two years: I have been rich, and lonely, for ten. My millions have been made honestly enough; but poverty and wretchedness had left their mark on me, and you will find very few men with a good word to say for Harrison Crockstead. I have no polish, or culture, or tastes. Art wearies me, literature sends me to sleep-- ALINE. When you come to the chapter of your personal deficiencies, Mr. Crockstead, please remember that they are sufficiently evident for me to have already observed them.