(_The voices approach. LADY PATRICIA arranges herself, one hand supporting her face, the other hanging over the side of the chair lightly holding a manuscript. MRS. O’FARREL enters, followed by CLARE LESLEY, DEAN LESLEY, and MICHAEL COSWAY. MRS. O’FARREL is a genuine, downright, humorous lady of fifty-seven; CLARE LESLEY, the DEAN’S daughter, a pretty girl of about twenty; DEAN LESLEY, a clerical exquisite, who carries his sixty years as lightly as his silver-knobbed stick and monocle; and MICHAEL COSWAY, LADY PATRICIA’S husband, a tall, serious man of thirty-eight._) MRS. O’FARREL. (_Out of breath._) Ah.... I’m green with envy of you, Dean! You’re at least five years my senior, and your wind is as sound as your doctrines. Look at me! I can’t climb a tree without getting—what’s the word, Clare? CLARE. Punctured. DEAN. My dear child! MRS. O’FARREL. Scold me, Dean, scold me! I meant the word, but hadn’t the pluck to say it. (_The DEAN laughs._) MICHAEL. And how do you like our little eyrie, Mrs. O’Farrel? MRS. O’FARREL. Charming, Michael, charming! It’s quite worth getting—getting—give me the word, Clare. CLARE. Winded. MRS. O’FARREL. (_Laughs and pats CLARE’S cheek._) Yes, it’s quite worth getting punctured—and winded—to see the view from here, Michael. How like you and Patricia to think of such a piece of arboreal sentimentality! Now whose idea—— (_Perceives LADY PATRICIA for the first time._) Why, Patricia! (_MICHAEL with an exclamation rushes to LADY PATRICIA’S side. CLARE looks bored._) DEAN. Delightful! MICHAEL. S-sh.... She’s asleep.... MRS. O’FARREL. Asleep! I should think she was, for my strident voice not to awake her! CLARE. Perhaps she’s shamming. DEAN. My dear child! MICHAEL. (_In a solemn whisper._) We must be very careful not to wake her. She had a bad headache this morning.... _See how she leans her cheek upon her hand!_ DEAN. _I would I were a glove upon that hand!_ MRS. O’FARREL. Dean! CLARE. Shocking! DEAN. And why? I love all that is beautiful with all my senses.... And why shouldn’t I? MRS. O’FARREL. Because such youthful depravity makes me envious again. DEAN. Pardon me, my dear lady, I remember you far too well as a girl to believe that even now— MRS. O’FARREL. (_Hastily._) Michael!... Will you and Clare take the car and meet Bill’s train? It won’t take you ten minutes; I’m too comfortable to move at present. Besides, we must have the place to ourselves, the Dean and I, as he is becoming indiscreetly reminiscent. Bring Bill back with you here, and he and I will drive home together.... You don’t mind? MICHAEL. I shall be delighted. CLARE. I’m not surprised you want to get rid of me, pater, if you’re going to talk about your gay youth. You must have been an awful rip. DEAN.