How do you know? GERALD. I didn't, till last week. MRS. SYLVESTER. It was at Mapledurham you made this discovery? GERALD. At Mapledurham. MRS. SYLVESTER. And your friend? GERALD. She was the revelation. MRS. SYLVESTER. I thought it was a woman. GERALD. That word just describes her. She is a woman--nothing more or less. Away went all my theories into air. My precious wisdom was stripped bare before me, and in its nakedness I saw my folly. Not with laborious thought; but in one vivid flash I learned more than I ever learned at Oxford. MRS. SYLVESTER. Really? GERALD. A woman! that is what one wants--that's all. Birth, brains, accomplishments--pshaw! vanities! community of interest--sympathy of soul? mere dialectics! That's not love. MRS. SYLVESTER. What _is_, then? GERALD. It defies analysis. You can't put love into a crucible. You only know that there is something empty in you; and you don't know what fills it; but that's love. There's no mistake about the real thing. MRS. SYLVESTER. Is she good-looking? GERARD. In _my_ eyes. MRS. SYLVESTER. A lady? GERALD. In social station, beneath me. But what's social station? MRS. SYLVESTER. This is infatuation. Some riverside coquette---- GERALD. Simplicity itself. MRS. SYLVESTER. Of course you think so; but you don't know women. The simple woman hasn't yet been born. This isn't love, Mr. Cazenove. This is the temporary victory of the baser side of your nature. The true alliance is the union of souls. GERALD. Of man and woman. MRS. SYLVESTER. But of soul and soul; not a mere sensual temptation. GERALD. Nor is this. A week ago I thought so. I know better now. MRS. SYLVESTER. Happily the weeks are not all over yet. In a few more you will have forgotten her as completely as she will have forgotten _you._ GERALD. In a few more, I hope that she will be my wife. MRS. SYLVESTER. You contemplate a _mésalliance?_ GERALD. There is no _mésalliance_ where there's love. MRS. SYLVESTER. You, of whom everyone expects so much, to throw away your opportunities, and to begin your life hindered and hampered by a foolish marriage. GERALD. If she will only marry me. MRS. SYLVESTER [_looks at him, pained_]. I may still be your friend? [_Offers him her hands, which he takes a little reluctantly._ _Re-enter WELLS._ WELLS. Lady Wargrave. [_Exit._ _Enter LADY WARGRAVE leaning on the COLONEL'S arm. She walks with a crutch-stick, and is followed by MARGERY, who carries a cushion. MRS. SYLVESTER retires up, so that she is not immediately seen by LADY WARGRAVE._ GERALD [_a little tentatively_]. My dear aunt! [_They shake hands._ LADY WARGRAVE. You may kiss me. [_He kisses her, then casts a glance of gratitude at MARGERY. Meanwhile MARGERY has prepared a chair for her, into which she is placed by GERALD and the COLONEL, who is now subdued and deferential, in marked contrast to his last scene. MARGERY takes up her position in the background._ COLONEL.