BOBBIE. I mean that you wouldn't understand unless you felt like I do. Oh, I don't know how to put it--but do you? FAITH (_coyly_). Do I what? (_Sits_ L. _of Chesterfield._) BOBBIE (_by armchair--desperately_). Feel as if you could ever care--even a little bit--for me? FAITH. I haven't tried yet. BOBBIE. Well, will you try? FAITH. I must ask mother. BOBBIE (_in anguish--moving slightly_ C.). Ask mother! But that's no use. Why, my mother could never make me care for someone I didn't want to, or not care for some one I did. Don't you see what I mean. If you are ever going to care for me you will have to do it on your own. Love isn't a thing to be ordered about at will. Love is wonderful--glorious, but above all, it's individual--you can't guide it. Why, you might fall in love with a taxi driver or a dope fiend---- FAITH. Mother would never allow me to _know_ a dope fiend. BOBBIE (L. _of Chesterfield--firmly_). But if you _did_, your mother's opinion wouldn't have any effect at all--not if you had it in your heart--really and truly. FAITH. Mother's disapproval might stop me falling in love. BOBBIE. No, it mightn't--nothing could stop it. On the contrary it would probably strengthen it; opposition always does. FAITH (_doubtfully_). Do you think so? BOBBIE. I'm sure of it, but anyhow, I'm going to tell you something. (MRS. DERMOTT _appears at window_ L.C. _with telegram._) MRS. DERMOTT. Bobbie, darling---- BOBBIE (_irritably_). What is it, mother? (_Goes up to window._) (FAITH _powders her nose, etc._) MRS. DERMOTT. I've just received the oddest telegram. We met the boy in the drive. Do listen, I can't understand it. (_She reads._) "Come to lunch Monday and discuss Royalties--Claverton." What _does_ it all mean? BOBBIE. It's not for you, it's for Vangy. Claverton's her publisher. MRS. DERMOTT. What on earth do they want to discuss Royalties for. It sounds _so_ snobbish. BOBBIE (_laughing_). Mother, at times you're inimitable. Royalties means money, so much per cent., you know. We've explained it heaps of times. MRS. DERMOTT. Of course, dear, how stupid of me; but still it is very muddling, when they call things by fancy names like that. Put it on the mantelpiece and give it to Vangy when she comes in. (_She disappears._) BOBBIE. Mother never will grasp the smallest technicality. (_Coming down to fireplace, he puts the telegram on the mantelpiece._) FAITH. You were going to tell me something. BOBBIE. Yes, I know something that will banish your mother's disapproval altogether.... FAITH. She hasn't disapproved yet. I only said she might. BOBBIE. Well, she's pretty certain to want you to make a good match. I know what mothers are, they all do. I'm not a good match I know, but what she doesn't know is that I have wonderful prospects. FAITH (_with interest_). Have you? BOBBIE. I should never have proposed to you, otherwise. FAITH. Well, you haven't proposed properly.