MRS. KNOWLE. Well, dear, there isn't very much to tell. I am quite sure that we never drank dew together, or anything like that, as Sandy suggests, and it wasn't by the sea at all, it was at Surbiton. He used to come down from London with his racquet and play tennis with us. And then he would stay on to supper sometimes, and then after supper we would go into the garden together--it was quite dark then, but everything smelt so beautifully, I shall always remember it--and we talked, oh, I don't know what about, but I knew somehow that I should marry him one day. I don't think _he_ knew--he wasn't sure--and then he came to a subscription dance one evening--I think Mother, your grandmother, guessed that that was to be my great evening, because she was very particular about my dress, and I remember she sent me upstairs again before we started, because I hadn't got the right pair of shoes on--rather a tight pair--however, I put them on. And there was a hansom outside the hall, and it was our last dance together, and he said, "Shall we sit it out, Miss Bagot?" Well, of course, I was only too glad to, and we sat it out in the hansom, driving all round Surbiton, and what your grandmother would have said I don't know, but, of course, I never told her. And when we got home after the dance, I went up to her room--as soon as I'd got my shoes off--and said, "Mother, I have some wonderful news for you," and she said, "_Not_ Mr. Knowle--Henry?" and I said, "'M," rather bright-eyed you know, and wanting to cry. And she said, "Oh, my darling child!" and--Jane, where's my handkerchief? (It has dropped off the sofa and JANE picks it up) Thank you, dear. (She dabs her eyes) Well, that's really all, you know, except that--(she dabs her eyes again)--I'm afraid I'm feeling rather overcome. I'm sure Dr. Anderson would say it was very bad for me to feel overcome. Your poor dear grandmother. Jane, dear, why did you ask me to tell you all this? I must go away and compose myself before your uncle and Mr. Coote come in. I don't know what I should do if Mr. Coote saw me like this. (She begins to get up) And after calling me a Spartan Mother only yesterday, because I said that if any nice, steady young man came along and took my own dear little girl away from me, I should bear the terrible wrench in silence rather than cause either of them a moment's remorse. (She is up now) There! JANE. Shall I come with you? MRS. KNOWLE. No, dear, not just now. Let me be by myself for a little. (She turns back suddenly at the door) Oh! Perhaps later on, when the men come from the dining-room, dear Jane, you might join me, with your Uncle Henry--if the opportunity occurs. . . . But only if it occurs, of course. [She goes. JANE (coming back to the sofa). Poor Aunt Mary! It always seems so queer that one's mother and aunts and people should have had their romances too. MELISANDE. Do you call that romance, Jane? Tennis and subscription dances and wearing tight shoes?