MYRA (_pushing him away_): No, Simon dear; it’s too hot. SIMON: You look beautifully cool. MYRA: I’m more than cool really, but it’s not climatic coolness. I’ve been mentally chilled to the marrow by Judith’s attitude. SIMON: Why, what did she say? MYRA: Nothing very much. She was bouncing about on the sofa with a hearty young thing in flannels, and seemed to resent my appearance rather. SIMON: You mustn’t take any notice of Mother. MYRA: I’ll try not to, but it’s difficult. SIMON: She adores you, really. MYRA: I’m sure she does. SIMON: She’s annoyed to-day because Father and Sorel have been asking people down without telling her. MYRA: Poor dear! I quite see why. SIMON: You look enchanting. MYRA: Thank you, Simon. SIMON: Are you pleased to see me? MYRA: Of course. That’s why I came. SIMON: Darling! MYRA: Sssh! Don’t shout. SIMON: I feel most colossally temperamental—I should like to kiss you and kiss you and kiss you and break everything in the house and then jump into the river. MYRA: Dear Simon! SIMON: You’re everything I want you to be—absolutely everything. Marvellous clothes, marvellous looks, marvellous brain——Oh, God, it’s terrible.... MYRA: I dined with Charlie Templeton last night. SIMON: Well, you’re a devil. You only did it to annoy me. He’s far too plump, and he can’t do anything but dither about the Embassy in badly-cut trousers. You loathe him really; you know you do—you’re too intelligent not to. You couldn’t like him and me at the same time—it’s impossible! MYRA: Don’t be so conceited. SIMON: Darling—I adore you. MYRA: That’s right. SIMON: But you’re callous—that’s what it is, callous! You don’t care a damn. You don’t love me a bit, do you? MYRA: Love’s a very big word, Simon. SIMON: It isn’t—it’s tiny. What are we to do? MYRA: What do you mean? SIMON: We can’t go on like this. MYRA: I’m not going on like anything. SIMON: Yes, you are; you’re going on like Medusa, and there are awful snakes popping their heads out at me from under your hat—I shall be turned to stone in a minute, and then you’ll be sorry. MYRA (_laughing_): You’re very sweet, and I’m very fond of you. SIMON: Tell me what you’ve been doing—everything. MYRA: Nothing. SIMON: What did you do after you’d dined with Charlie Templeton? MYRA: Supped with Charlie Templeton. SIMON: Well, I don’t mind a bit. I hope you ate a lot and enjoyed yourself—there! MYRA: Generous boy! Come and kiss me. SIMON: You’re only playing up to me now; you don’t really want to a bit. MYRA: I’m aching for it. SIMON (_kissing her violently_): I love you. MYRA: This week-end’s going to be strenuous. SIMON: Hell upon earth—fifteen million people in the house. We’ll get up at seven and rush away down the river. MYRA: No, we won’t. SIMON: Don’t let either of us agree to anything we say—we’ll both be difficult. I love being difficult. MYRA: You certainly do. SIMON: But I’m in the most lovely mood now. Just seeing you makes me feel grand——