Ah, the nightingale! How charmingly it sings to-night!... I do wish we had some nightingales at Ashurst. I suppose they prefer low-lying ground like this.... Do they sing in your garden at the Deanery? (_The DEAN comes out of the summer-house in a very crestfallen condition._) DEAN. Eileen—— MRS. O’FARREL. (_Cheerfully._) Yes? DEAN. This is dreadful—dreadful.... MRS. O’FARREL. On the contrary, I think it’s most delightful! One can hear every note so perfectly at this elevation. DEAN. Is it generous of you—is it generous of you, Eileen, to flaunt your terrible triumph like this? I am heart-broken! I am distracted! What on earth am I to do? MRS. O’FARREL. (_Pouring him out a whisky-and-soda._) Drink this! DEAN. (_Pettishly._) I don’t care for whisky. MRS. O’FARREL. Oh, you needn’t make such a fuss! It’s perfectly obvious from what we saw just now that no real harm has been done. The way she kissed Michael—— (_She bursts out laughing._) DEAN. How can you, Eileen? How can you? MRS. O’FARREL. It reminded me of a child taking castor-oil!... But Michael—the double-faced hypocrisy of the man! I’m really very sorry for Patricia. DEAN. I don’t see the necessity for lavishing sympathy on her. MRS. O’FARREL. What do you mean? Doesn’t she believe he returns her devotion? DEAN. Her devotion doesn’t prevent her philandering with other men, as I told you just now. MRS. O’FARREL. Well, upon my word! I wouldn’t have believed it! In spite of this gross example of your obtuseness, you still have the—the audacity to stick to your slander against Bill! Really I—— (_She stops short, listens, then hurries to the back and looks over the railing. She turns to the DEAN and speaks in a quiet whisper._) We must hide in the summer-house.... DEAN. Eh? What? MRS. O’FARREL. At once! Bill and Patricia are returning here. You will see for yourself there’s nothing more between them than cousinly regard. DEAN. I refuse to eavesdrop a lady. MRS. O’FARREL. But you deliberately did it a moment ago. DEAN. Clare is my daughter. MRS. O’FARREL. Fiddlesticks! (_Pushes him before her._) Quick now! DEAN. I submit—— MRS. O’FARREL. Hush! DEAN. —Under protest.... (_She shepherds the DEAN into the summer-house just as PATRICIA and BILL come up the central ladder._) LADY PATRICIA. Cousin Bill and I have discovered that guelder-roses are guelder-roses after all.... Why, Bill dear, they’re not here! BILL. Got impatient, I suppose, and went back to the house. About time we did the same. It’s getting late. LADY PATRICIA. (_Dreamily._) _Too late, too late! Ye cannot enter now!_ BILL. What d’you say? LADY PATRICIA. I was quoting Tennyson. BILL. Oh.... LADY PATRICIA. You know the lines, don’t you? Listen: _Late, late, so late! and dark the night and chill!_ _Late, late, so late, but we can enter still!_ _Too late, too late! Ye cannot enter now!_