TOPSY. Well, I have written a little poetry--or rather a few bad verses--at one time or another. ASTON. Really now! What about, may I ask? TOPSY. Well . . . (_hesitating_) about different things, you know. (_She fans herself rather nervously._) BELLE. (_Leaning over TOPSY'S shoulder and addressing ASTON directly._) Mostly about Love. (_She dwells long and voluptuously on the last word, pronouncing it "lovv" rather than "luvv."_) CAIN. Oh, dat's good, dat's good; dat's dam good. (_In moments of emotion CAIN'S manners and language savour more obviously than usual of the Old Plantation._) Did yoh see her face den? BELLE. (_Repeats, slowly and solemnly._) Mostly about Love. HENRIKA. Oh, oh. (_She covers her face with her hands._) How could you? It makes me tingle all over. (_She runs behind the kadapoo tree again._) ASTON. (_Very seriously and intelligently._) Really. That's very interesting. I wish you'd let me see what you've done some time. SIR JASPER. We always like to see these things, don't we, Aston? Do you remember Mrs. Towler? How pretty she was! And the way we criticized her literary productions. . . . ASTON. Mrs. Towler. . . . (_He shudders as though he had touched something soft and filthy._) Oh, don't, Jasper, don't! SIR JASPER. Dear Mrs. Towler! We were very nice about her poems, weren't we? Do you remember the one that began: "My Love is like a silvern flower-de-luce Within some wondrous dream-garden pent: God made my lovely lily not for use, But for an ornament." Even Cain, I believe, saw the joke of that. ASTON. Mrs. Towler--oh, my God! But this is quite different: this girl really interests me. SIR JASPER. Oh yes, I know, I know. She interests you too, Cain, doesn't she? CAIN. (_Prances two or three steps of a cake-walk and sings._) Oh, ma honey, oh, ma honey. ASTON. But, I tell you, this is quite different. SIR JASPER. Of course it is. Any fool could see that it was. I've admitted it already. ASTON. (_To TOPSY._) You will show them me, won't you? I should so much like to see them. TOPSY. (_Covered with confusion._) No, I really couldn't. You're a professional, you see. HENRIKA. (_From behind the kadapoo tree._) No, you mustn't show them to him. They're really mine, you know, a great many of them. BELLE. Nonsense! (_She stoops down and moves TOPSY'S foot in such a way that a very well-shaped, white-stockinged leg is visible some way up the calf. Then, to TOPSY._) Pull your skirt down, my dear. You're quite indecent. CAIN. (_Putting up his monocle._) Oh, nyum nyum, ma honey! Come wid me to Dixie Land. . . . SIR JASPER. H'm, a little conscious, don't you think? ASTON. But even professionals are human, my dear young lady. And perhaps I might be able to give you some help with your writings. TOPSY. That's awfully kind of you, Mr. Tyrrell. HENRIKA. Oh, don't let him see them. I don't want him to. Don't let him. ASTON.