HE [shortly] Then you will have to do without it: that's all. SHE. That's not a very nice thing to say after breaking my pet fan, I think. HE. If you knew how near I was to breaking Teddy's pet wife and presenting him with the pieces, you would be thankful that you are alive instead of--of--of howling about five shillings worth of ivory. Damn your fan! SHE. Oh! Don't you dare swear in my presence. One would think you were my husband. HE [again collapsing on the stool] This is some horrible dream. What has become of you? You are not my Aurora. SHE. Oh, well, if you come to that, what has become of you? Do you think I would ever have encouraged you if I had known you were such a little devil? HE. Don't drag me down--don't--don't. Help me to find the way back to the heights. SHE [kneeling beside him and pleading] If you would only be reasonable, Henry. If you would only remember that I am on the brink of ruin, and not go on calmly saying it's all quite simple. HE. It seems so to me. SHE [jumping up distractedly] If you say that again I shall do something I'll be sorry for. Here we are, standing on the edge of a frightful precipice. No doubt it's quite simple to go over and have done with it. But can't you suggest anything more agreeable? HE. I can suggest nothing now. A chill black darkness has fallen: I can see nothing but the ruins of our dream. [He rises with a deep sigh]. SHE. Can't you? Well, I can. I can see Georgina rubbing those poems into Teddy. [Facing him determinedly] And I tell you, Henry Apjohn, that you got me into this mess; and you must get me out of it again. HE [polite and hopeless] All I can say is that I am entirely at your service. What do you wish me to do? SHE. Do you know anybody else named Aurora? HE. No. SHE. There's no use in saying No in that frozen pigheaded way. You must know some Aurora or other somewhere. HE. You said you were the only Aurora in the world. And [lifting his clasped fists with a sudden return of his emotion] oh God! you were the only Aurora in the world to me. [He turns away from her, hiding his face]. SHE [petting him] Yes, yes, dear: of course. It's very nice of you; and I appreciate it: indeed I do; but it's not reasonable just at present. Now just listen to me. I suppose you know all those poems by heart. HE. Yes, by heart. [Raising his head and looking at her, with a sudden suspicion] Don't you? SHE. Well, I never can remember verses; and besides, I've been so busy that I've not had time to read them all; though I intend to the very first moment I can get: I promise you that most faithfully, Henry. But now try and remember very particularly. Does the name of Bompas occur in any of the poems? HE [indignantly] No. SHE. You're quite sure? HE. Of course I am quite sure. How could I use such a name in a poem? SHE. Well, I don't see why not. It rhymes to rumpus, which seems appropriate enough at present, goodness knows! However, you're a poet, and you ought to know.