DOYLE. Oh yes it does. But it's the charm of a dream. Live in contact with dreams and you will get something of their charm: live in contact with facts and you will get something of their brutality. I wish I could find a country to live in where the facts were not brutal and the dreams not unreal. BROADBENT [changing his attitude and responding to Doyle's earnestness with deep conviction: his elbows on the table and his hands clenched]. Don't despair, Larry, old boy: things may look black; but there will be a great change after the next election. DOYLE [jumping up]. Oh get out, you idiot! BROADBENT [rising also, not a bit snubbed]. Ha! ha! you may laugh; but we shall see. However, don't let us argue about that. Come now! you ask my advice about Miss Reilly? DOYLE [reddening]. No I don't. Damn your advice! [Softening] Let's have it, all the same. BROADBENT. Well, everything you tell me about her impresses me favorably. She seems to have the feelings of a lady; and though we must face the fact that in England her income would hardly maintain her in the lower middle class-- DOYLE [interrupting]. Now look here, Tom. That reminds me. When you go to Ireland, just drop talking about the middle class and bragging of belonging to it. In Ireland you're either a gentleman or you're not. If you want to be particularly offensive to Nora, you can call her a Papist; but if you call her a middle-class woman, Heaven help you! BROADBENT [irrepressible]. Never fear. You're all descended from the ancient kings: I know that. [Complacently] I'm not so tactless as you think, my boy. [Earnest again] I expect to find Miss Reilly a perfect lady; and I strongly advise you to come and have another look at her before you make up your mind about her. By the way, have you a photograph of her? DOYLE. Her photographs stopped at twenty-five. BROADBENT [saddened]. Ah yes, I suppose so. [With feeling, severely] Larry: you've treated that poor girl disgracefully. DOYLE. By George, if she only knew that two men were talking about her like this--! BROADBENT. She wouldn't like it, would she? Of course not. We ought to be ashamed of ourselves, Larry. [More and more carried away by his new fancy]. You know, I have a sort of presentiment that Miss Really is a very superior woman. DOYLE [staring hard at him]. Oh you have, have you? BROADBENT. Yes I have. There is something very touching about the history of this beautiful girl. DOYLE. Beau--! Oho! Here's a chance for Nora! and for me! [Calling] Hodson. HODSON [appearing at the bedroom door]. Did you call, sir? DOYLE. Pack for me too. I'm going to Ireland with Mr Broadbent. HODSON. Right, sir. [He retires into the bedroom.] BROADBENT [clapping Doyle on the shoulder]. Thank you, old chap. Thank you. ACT II