That will do, Baldwin. BALDWIN. Yes, ’m. (_He goes out._) BILL. What’s this about Ashurst? LADY PATRICIA. I have asked Baldwin to cut away some of those branches so that I can see it. I used to loathe the sight of the house. Then your mother bought it, and I liked it. I love it now that you have come to stay there.... You may kiss me, Bill. BILL. May I? (_He kisses her forehead._) LADY PATRICIA. You may kiss me again. BILL. May I? (_He kisses her cheek._) LADY PATRICIA. You may kiss me again. BILL. Patricia! (_He kisses her mouth._) LADY PATRICIA. (_Clinging to him._) Oh, how I’ve longed for this moment—how I’ve longed for it!... All these weary months I’ve lived in the past and future, on memories and anticipations. Now, at last I have the present—I have reality—you—to have and to hold—you—you.... Kiss me. BILL. (_Embracing her ardently._) Patricia! LADY PATRICIA. Hush! (_Disengaging herself._) We mustn’t be foolish.... Sit down.... (_He sits at her feet._) So you got my telegram? BILL. Directly the boat came alongside. But it took me a deuce of a time to make out! My French is a bit rusty, and the rotters had jumbled up some of the words. As it is, I only made out the gist of it—to take an earlier train from London than I’d intended, and to call on you before going on to Ashurst, as I’d find you alone in a summer-house you’d built on some tree or other. The twiddly bits of the message didn’t somehow seem to make sense.... LADY PATRICIA. The ... twiddly bits? BILL. Yes; something about a star in red water, and horses with white manes. Couldn’t make it out at all. LADY PATRICIA. That was a quotation from De Musset, my poor boy. BILL. Great Scott! I thought it was a cypher. People don’t generally quote poetry in their telegrams. LADY PATRICIA. I do. BILL. In any case, it seemed to me a bit rash of you to send the wire at all—even in French. LADY PATRICIA. Oh, did it? As a matter of fact, I used French, not to conceal the message, but because the language seemed to me so beautifully appropriate for making a clandestine meeting. BILL. By Jove! Fancy thinking of that! LADY PATRICIA. To sin beautifully is the less a sin. Don’t forget, dear, that, however innocent, our love is wrong. We should never neglect an opportunity of ennobling it with little touches of beauty, should we? BILL. Rather not!... So Michael’s away? LADY PATRICIA. Only this afternoon. He has gone to a garden party at the Fitzgeralds’. Your mother’s there as well. Everybody’s there. But I wanted to see you for a little while before any one else, so I sent you that wire and pretended a headache. A petty deceit that avenged itself! For directly I told it, I felt a slight twinge of neuralgia. BILL. Hard luck! But it’s better, dear, isn’t it? LADY PATRICIA.