SHE. Mrs. Buzgago taught it me. She is both drawing-room and proper, and in another month she'll shut her drawing-room to me, and thank God she isn't as improper as I am. Oh, Guy, Guy! I wish I was like some women and had no scruples about--what is it Keene says?--“Wearing a corpse's hair and being false to the bread they eat.” HE. I am only a man of limited intelligence, and just now, very bewildered. When you have quite finished flashing through all your moods tell me, and I'll try to understand the last one. SHE. Moods, Guy! I haven't any. I'm sixteen years old and you're just twenty, and you've been waiting for two hours outside the school in the cold. And now I've met you, and now we're walking home together. Does that suit you, My Imperial Majesty? HE. No. We aren't children. Why can't you be rational? SHE. He asks me that when I'm going to commit suicide for his sake, and, and--I don't want to be French and rave about my mother, but have I ever told you that I have a mother, and a brother who was my pet before I married? He's married now. Can't you imagine the pleasure that the news of the elopement will give him? Have you any people at Home, Guy, to be pleased with your performances? HE. One or two. One can't make omelets without breaking eggs. SHE (slowly). I don't see the necessity-- HE. Hah! What do you mean? SHE. Shall I speak the truth? HE. Under the circumstances, perhaps it would be as well. SHE. Guy, I'm afraid. HE. I thought we'd settled all that. What of? SHE. Of you. HE. Oh, damn it all! The old business! This is too had! SHE. Of you. HE. And what now? SHE. What do you think of me? HE. Beside the question altogether. What do you intend to do? SHE. I daren't risk it. I'm afraid. If I could only cheat-- HE. A la Buzgago? No, thanks. That's the one point on which I have any notion of Honor. I won't eat his salt and steal too. I'll loot openly or not at all. SHE. I never meant anything else. HE. Then, why in the world do you pretend not to be willing to come? SHE. It's not pretence, Guy. I am afraid. HE. Please explain. SHE. It can't last, Guy. It can't last. You'll get angry, and then you'll swear, and then you'll get jealous, and then you'll mistrust me--you do now--and you yourself will be the best reason for doubting. And I--what shall I do? I shall be no better than Mrs. Buzgago found out--no better than any one. And you'll know that. Oh, Guy, can't you see? HE. I see that you are desperately unreasonable, little woman. SHE. There! The moment I begin to object, you get angry. What will you do when I am only your property--stolen property? It can't be, Guy. It can't be! I thought it could, but it can't. You'll get tired of me. HE. I tell you I shall not. Won't anything make you understand that?