BILL. Well, anyhow, I shall have to stick to Patricia—not because of “higher morality”—whatever that means—but because I know she would pine away if I left her now. CLARE. Tchah! (_They stand miserably silent, looking in opposite directions. The nightingale starts singing, and sings through the next scene. The voices of the DEAN and MRS. O’FARREL come up from beneath._) MRS. O’FARREL. Well, I find it chilly, Dean—distinctly chilly. DEAN. For Whitsuntide, dear lady—surely not. True, Whitsuntide is very late this year.... (_MRS. O’FARREL enters, followed by the DEAN, up the central ladder._) MRS. O’FARREL. Why, here’s the child! All alone, my dear? Whatever have you been doing to your hair? CLARE. It’s such a hot night I had to take it down. MRS. O’FARREL. Hot? DEAN. But, my dear child, you can’t possibly go home like that! CLARE. I’ll put it up when I get back to the house. MRS. O’FARREL. (_Perceiving BILL._) Is that my son? BILL. (_Gloomily._) Hullo, mater.... DEAN. Enchanting night, my boy! BILL. (_As before._) Awfully jolly.... MRS. O’FARREL. And where are the others? CLARE. I don’t know. MRS. O’FARREL. Sentimentalising in the moonlight.... CLARE. I suppose so. (_MRS. O’FARREL regards both the young people critically through her lorgnette._) DEAN. (_Breezily._) And what have you two been up to? BILL. Mootching around. CLARE. Playing about. DEAN. Your mother and I thought we’d like a little stroll before going home. BILL. Good idea.... (_The DEAN fixes his monocle, and, slightly puzzled, scrutinises them each in turn._) MRS. O’FARREL. What’s the matter with you both? BILL AND CLARE. The matter?... MRS. O’FARREL. Have you been quarrelling? BILL AND CLARE. Quarrelling?... MRS. O’FARREL. You’re as sulky as two bears. BILL AND CLARE. I? MRS. O’FARREL. As two bears. Aren’t they, Dean? DEAN. Sulky? No, no; surely not sulky! Chastened! Thoughtful! A little overcome, perhaps, by the beauty of the night—as all sensitive young souls should be. MRS. O’FARREL. H’m!... Sensitive young souls!... (_LADY PATRICIA, followed by MICHAEL, enters on the left._) LADY PATRICIA. All of you? But how charming! How delightful! DEAN. Dear Lady Patricia! (_MICHAEL moves towards CLARE, who evades his ardent gaze._) MRS. O’FARREL. What have you been doing with yourselves? LADY PATRICIA. Looking at the guelder-roses in the moonlight, and wondering whether they were guelder-roses at all or great pearls. MRS. O’FARREL. Personally I should say they were guelder-roses. LADY PATRICIA. Ah, but dear Aunt Eileen, how can you tell what pranks the fairies may not play on such a night as this? DEAN. What an exquisite fancy! BILL.