And what he says is To-night ... just like that. Only I can't say it. Which means he'll come back to-night and carry her off and love her ever so. And he might, what's more, if it wasn't for...! But you'll see. [Suddenly Gelsomino goes to Columbine and demands the rose, imperiously, with a gesture not to be denied. That means he says he's her husband, and can't he have it if he likes? And she won't give it him now. And she's quite right. I wouldn't either. Nor would any woman. Look! [And Columbine has torn the rose in pieces and flung them on the ground, and flung herself off. And then Gelsomino flings himself down in self-reproachful despair. But all this flinging shows a lover's quarrel, and there's life and hope in that. But Alice is young and stern. Serve him right! And if it wasn't for Harlequin .... UNCLE EDWARD. Hush! [Harlequin has called to Clown and Pantaloon. And, like conspirators, they stand there and most elaborately they weave a plot. It's a most difficult plot to follow. It involves a dark night and tiptoes and a signal given. It involves, too, a cloak and a skirt and a bonnet for Clown; and this attracts him so much he can attend to little else. ALICE. Do you guess what's going to happen? Uncle, they've forgotten the lights. Oh, this is the bit I love. UNCLE EDWARD. [In a hoarse whisper.] St! George! [Suddenly on the little stage day becomes night. What had George to do with it? [In a hoarse whisper still.] Bring 'em round a bit ... the number two steels. [And the moon, obediently turning, floods the little stage. Indeed it is pretty. Uncle Edward can't contain himself. And he has given it away anyhow. Romantic, isn't it? And just the colour moonlight ought to be. [The music tells us this is real romance. Dark figures are flitting among the trees. Who are they? Gelsomino, Harlequin, Pantaloon. The Man of the World, wrapped dramatically in a great black cloak, arrives. "Arrives" is poor. He approaches. Pantaloon totters down to him. "Wait, and your love will come." He waits and his love comes, waddling most amazingly and wrapped in the tablecloth. We are sure it's Clown, and who wouldn't be? But the Man of the World--for a real Man of the World--is strangely deceived. He kneels to her adoringly; he rises and would embrace her passionately. ALICE. "Love of my life," he says. "Let us away!" [Harlequin waves his wand. The tablecloth has gone. It is Clown indeed, clownish and undoubted. Yes, it's Clown, it's Clown, it's Clown! And Clown says:--"Whither away, fair sir?" And the Man of the World just withers. [He grinds his teeth, does the Man of the World (if there is anything in the orchestra that will do it). And he goes, defeated. "Exit, baffled, the Man of the World." Alice is breathless.