_Stuart._ But they don’t. You say Mr. Wortley favours Newbank and Mrs. Van Tromp encourages her brother-in-law. Naturally, then, they don’t approve your very evident liking for Miss Agnes. Yet I see you here quite as often as either of the favoured ones. Do you think if this system of exclusion were possible, it would not have been practised long ago? _Fred._ If you ask it as a conundrum I give it up. But I know that neither of them want me to marry Miss Wortley. Mr. Wortley wishes Newbank’s millions to add to the family. Mrs. Van Tromp hopes to graft Miss Wortley on the fine old stock of Van Tromps. _Stuart._ And what does the person most concerned want? In this glorious country of ours, where children always know more than parents, the girl’s consent is really the only requisite. What does Miss Wortley want? _Fred._ I only wish I knew! _Stuart._ Well, how does she treat you compared with the other men? _Fred._ At first she was very nice and friendly, but latterly she’ll have nothing to do with me. _Stuart._ A girl of taste! _Fred._ I’m in the mood to enjoy such friendly jokes. _Stuart._ It was meant kindly, Fred, as you will see in a moment. Now, my boy, I’m going to give you a talking to, and if you resent it, it will only be further confirmation of another little theory of mine, that a man’s an ass who concerns himself in other people’s affairs. _Fred._ Go ahead. I’m blue enough to like anything sour or disagreeable. [_Sits, desk chair, and leans on desk._ _Stuart._ Now, there at once you give me the text to preach from. (_Walks behind chair l. and leans on back, speaking over it down r._) About a year ago a certain gentleman named Fred meets a certain lady named Agnes. We’ll say he met her at a dance— _Fred._ No, it was yachting. _Stuart._ Ah!—excuse my lack of historical accuracy. Well, on a yacht—he met her; then at a ball—he met her; then at a cotillion—he met her; then at a dinner—he met her. In short, he met her, and met her, and met her. _Fred (gloomily)._ Yes, and what is more, he spent hours trying to. _Stuart._ Well, she was pretty and charming and—I’m short of an adjective, Fred. _Fred._ Of course you are! There isn’t one in Webster’s Unabridged which would do her justice! _Stuart._ That should have been said to her and not wasted on me. Well, we’ll say the girl is plu-perfect. The fellow is rather good looking—eh, Fred? _Fred._ I don’t know. _Stuart._ He talks and dances well; and is, in fact, quite a shining light among her devotees. _Fred (irritably)._ Oh, cut it, for heaven’s sake! [_Rises impatiently._ _Stuart (laughing)._ Excuse me,—the story-teller never cuts; it’s the editor who does that. _Fred (angrily)._ Oh, go on. _Stuart._ Well, at first this masculine paragon whom I have so meagrely described seems to be doing well. She likes his society and shows it. (_To Fred._) Right? _Fred._ I thought so.