SMITH. Won't you sit down for five minutes? (_READY Horn_.) CELIA. Certainly not. SMITH. Just five! CELIA. No. SMITH. If you don't, upon my word, I shall begin to believe that you are afraid of me. CELIA. (_Sits quickly with her back to the audience_ L. _of table_) Indeed! That wouldn't be your _first_ mistake, you know. SMITH. I know it was a foolish trick. I had no right to come here as I did. CELIA. It was a cruel joke. SMITH. (_Simply and feelingly_) Yes, but a joke that is more on me now than it ever was on you. (_Motor horn toots three times_. CELIA _turns her head in the direction of the conservatory_.) I want you to know that my name really is Vavasour. CELIA. You astonish me. Isn't it anything else too? SMITH. Yes, it's really J. N. Smith, too. CELIA. Oh! Is that all? SMITH. No, more. Now that I have come in to my Uncle Vavasour's old Abbey, I have to take his name legally, Smith-Vavasour, don't you see? CELIA. I see. What a delightful combination of class and mass! This may be all very interesting to anyone interested, but really I haven't time now to split hairs over a middle name. Your intention was to deceive me, and you almost succeeded. Failure alone, I take it, accounts for your present humility. Now, if you will be good enough to get your watch on the desk, you will see that the five minutes you asked for are up and, since you insist on saying good-bye to me, will you say it as quickly as possible, please, and let me go? (_Makes no attempt to move_.) SMITH. No. Not until we've decided what's to be done about your other letters. (_Hand unconsciously rests on the box of letters without his knowing it_.) CELIA. (_Glances at this and tries to appear unconcerned_) What other letters? SMITH. I have that first one here. (_Pressing his hand over his heart_.) But--all the others. Good God! (_Moving well down_ R.) When I think of love letters of yours wandering loose about Somaliland---- (CELIA _places her bag quickly on table, steals her arm across, seizes the box of letters while_ SMITH _is not looking, and on the word Somaliland, swings away from him, hiding the box awkwardly under her cloak_.) There's one thing I can do to show you what I feel about it. Give me some clue to the mistaken addresses you must have put upon them and I'll start back to-morrow and fetch them. (_Comes_ L.C., _quite close to_ CELIA.) CELIA. From Somaliland? SMITH. From _Hell_, if necessary. CELIA. Fortunately, such a journey would be superfluous. SMITH. What do you mean? CELIA. I mean that all of those hundreds and hundreds of letters that I was fool enough to write to an imaginary hero are all here in this box. And now they're going into the furnace with my own hands. (_Starts for door, swinging the box in her right hand_.) SMITH. (_Following her and playfully taking the box from her_) Won't you give them to me instead?