Eileen, you’re a wicked woman! (_They move to the other side of the platform._) MRS. O’FARREL. And you’re a scandalous example of clerical depravity! (_LADY PATRICIA looks cautiously over her shoulder at them, yawns, and pretends to sleep again._) DEAN. Tut, tut, tut, my dear!... Eileen, do you know why I went into the Church? MRS. O’FARREL. You thought it a convenient cloak for your peccadilloes. DEAN. Out of sheer gratitude to my Maker for creating woman.... Eileen, why did you refuse to marry me? MRS. O’FARREL. There must be at least half a dozen flies on Patricia’s face. DEAN. Never mind the flies—it’s their turn for the moment.... Why did you refuse me, Eileen? MRS. O’FARREL. Because my love for you made me a blind fool! I misunderstood your admiration for women. I thought your homage of every girl you met, personal—not universal, as I learned too late—a superb compliment to the whole sex. Dear friend, I repented in sackcloth and ashes! Not that O’Farrel wasn’t a good fellow, every inch of him. He made life very happy. But life with you—well, I missed it! DEAN. Will you marry me, Eileen? MRS. O’FARREL. No. DEAN. Why not? MRS. O’FARREL. I’m far too old for a boy like you. DEAN. Is this final? MRS. O’FARREL. Final. DEAN. Ah!... Your companionship would have been so good for Clare. A tactfully restraining influence.... MRS. O’FARREL. I doubt it. I’m too much in sympathy with the child. DEAN. But you wouldn’t encourage her to tell every one she meets—including the Bishop—that she is an Atheist, or ride astride through the town without the formality of—er—divided skirts.... MRS. O’FARREL. No—perhaps not. (_She lowers her voice._) I should first of all put a stop to her galavantin’ about every other day with Michael. DEAN. Really, my dear Eileen, I think the friendship between Michael Cosway and Clare is wholly charming and can only do the child good. Surely you don’t—— MRS. O’FARREL. No, of course I don’t! Michael’s far too infatuated with your sleeping beauty there. Still, I’d put a stop to it. And then I should marry your daughter to Bill with indecent haste. DEAN. Eh, what? Your son? Dear me! MRS. O’FARREL. Why shouldn’t they marry? They are obviously kindred spirits. DEAN. I don’t know your son sufficiently well to—er—— MRS. O’FARREL. A thoroughly healthy, young animal.... You’ll meet him in a moment. I hear the motor.... DEAN. How quick they’ve been!... Marry them! Dear me! MRS. O’FARREL. Now then, Mr. Dean, to work! DEAN. I don’t quite—— MRS. O’FARREL. Patricia’s flies! If Michael catches you idling! DEAN. Now, fancy my forgetting it! (_They both laugh. He hurries back to LADY PATRICIA and starts fanning her. Voices are audible beneath._) MRS. O’FARREL. (_Looking over the railing._) But where’s Bill? (_She hurries towards the entrance and calls down._) Have you people dropped my only son out of the car?