[_Hurriedly masks herself._ _Stuart (aside)._ That’s the quickest change I ever saw. I only just left her at the door of her room! (_Comes down._) Are you practising lightning transformations? _Agnes._ Comment ça va-t-il, Monsieur? _Stuart (regretfully)._ I’m sorry, but I don’t understand French. (_Aside._) Whopper number one. _Agnes._ Wie gehts? _Stuart._ Nor German. (_Aside._) Number two. _Agnes._ Buenas noches, señor? _Stuart (wearily)._ And on Spanish I’m an entire failure. (_Aside._) The recording angel didn’t catch me that time! _Agnes._ Will you kindly tell me what you do speak? _Stuart (gallantly and bowing)._ In your society only the universal language. _Agnes._ And I don’t understand Volapük. _Stuart._ Volapük! That’s not the one of which I speak. _Agnes._ And of what, then? _Stuart._ To the language which without instruction is known around the world; to the language that’s spoken by all classes, and is never out of fashion; to the language that has no dictionary; yet which possesses the most beautiful vocabulary in the universe. _Agnes._ I don’t remember any such in my text-book on philology. _Stuart._ It is too real to be taught in schools. Nor were you old enough to understand it had it been. I speak of the language of love. _Agnes._ Of course; I suppose it is a universal tongue. (_Satirically._) But so few can speak it well. Don’t you think it ought to be left to the poets? _Stuart._ I love the future of the human race too much to wish that. Think of the frightful increase of bad rhymers it would cause,—and that too with the markets already overstocked. _Agnes._ But would that be any worse than to see the average unromantic breadwinner make love? It’s very hard on our sex to appear sympathetic. Most men do it about as successfully as a hippopotamus would waltz. _Stuart._ Aren’t you a little unfair, Mrs. Van Tromp? _Agnes._ And so you think I am Mrs. Van Tromp? _Stuart._ I don’t think it; I know it. Do you think for a moment you could deceive me? But that doesn’t answer my question. _Agnes._ As to the justice of my criticism on the way men propose? (_With affected coyness._) Perhaps I have had too little experience to speak with knowledge. _Stuart._ Mrs. Van Tromp would not dare to say that unmasked. Her face would give her tongue the lie. _Agnes._ I fancy you are the first man who ever turned calling one a liar into a compliment. _Stuart._ Since that is possible, may not a poetic proposal be also? _Agnes._ Perhaps. And when I hear one that does not make me want to laugh, I’ll make public recantation. _Stuart._ It’s a bold man or a fool who’d venture after what you have said. And yet I should like to try. _Agnes (laughing)._ Why, Mr. Stuart, what would you do if I were to take you seriously and say yes?