SOREL (_nonchalantly_): I was only playing up—one always plays up to Mother in this house; it’s a sort of unwritten law. SANDY: Didn’t she mean all she said? SOREL: No, not really; we none of us ever mean anything. SANDY: She seemed awfully upset. SOREL: It must have been a slight shock for her to discover us clasped tightly in each other’s arms. SANDY: I believe I do love you, Sorel. SOREL: A month ago I should have let you go on believing that, but now I can’t—I’m bent on improving myself. SANDY: I don’t understand. SOREL: Never mind—it doesn’t matter. You just fell a victim to the atmosphere, that’s all. There we were alone in the library, with the windows wide open, and probably a nightingale somewhere about—— SANDY: I only heard a cuckoo. SOREL: Even a cuckoo has charm, in moderation. You kissed me because you were awfully nice and I was awfully nice and we both liked kissing very much. It was inevitable. Then Mother found us and got dramatic—her sense of the theatre is always fatal. She knows we shan’t marry, the same as you and I do. You’re under absolutely no obligation to me at all. SANDY: I wish I understood you a bit better. SOREL: Never mind about understanding me. Let’s go back into the library. SANDY: All right. [_They go off._ [_After a moment’s pause, DAVID and MYRA enter from the garden._ DAVID: ... And, you see, he comes in and finds her there waiting for him. MYRA: She hadn’t been away at all? DAVID: No; and that’s psychologically right. I’m sure. No woman, under those circumstances, _would_. MYRA: It’s brilliant of you to see that. I do think the whole thing sounds most excellent. DAVID: I got badly stuck in the middle of the book, when the boy comes down from Oxford—but it worked out all right eventually. MYRA (_sitting on sofa_): When shall I be able to read it? DAVID: I’ll send you the proofs—you can help me correct them. MYRA: How divine! I shall feel most important. DAVID: Would you like a cigarette, or anything? MYRA: No, thank you. DAVID: I think I’ll have a drink. MYRA: Very well; give me some plain soda-water, then. DAVID (_going to side table_): There isn’t any ice—d’you mind? MYRA: Not a bit. DAVID (_bringing her drink_): Here you are. MYRA: Thank you. (_She sips it._) I wonder where everybody is. DAVID: Not here, thank God. MYRA: It must be dreadfully worrying for you, having a houseful of people. DAVID (_having poured himself out a whisky-and-soda, sits down by her side_): It depends on the people. MYRA: I have a slight confession to make. DAVID: Confession? MYRA: Yes. Do you know why I came down here? DAVID: Not in the least. I suppose one of us asked you, didn’t they? MYRA: Oh, yes, they asked me, but—— DAVID: Well? MYRA: I was invited once before—last September. DAVID: I was in America then. MYRA: Exactly. DAVID: How do you mean “exactly”? MYRA: I didn’t come. I’m a very determined woman, you know, and I made up my mind to meet you ages ago.