_Lucy._ I was only thinking that--[_hesitates_]. _Harold._ Thinking what? About me: _Lucy._ Yes, about you and--and also about myself. _Harold._ That is just as it should be, about us two together. _Lucy._ Yes, but I was afraid---- _Harold._ [_Smiling._] Afraid! what of? _Lucy._ Nothing, nothing really. I am ashamed that--let me give you some more tea. _Harold._ No, thanks. Come, let me hear, make a clean breast of it. _Lucy._ I can't, really; you would only laugh at me. _Harold._ Then why deny me a pleasure, for you know I love to laugh? _Lucy._ Well, then--if you become famous--and rich---- _Harold._ If I do; well? _Lucy._ You won't--you won't forget me, will you? _Harold._ Forget you, what an idea! Why do I want to become famous? why do I want to become rich? For my own sake? for the sake of the money? Neither. I want it for your sake, so that you can be rich; so that you can have everything you can possibly want. I don't mind roughing it a bit myself, but---- _Lucy._ No more do I: I am sure we might be very happy living even here. _Harold._ No, thank you; no second pair fronts for me, or, rather, none for my wife. I want you to forget all about this place, as though it had never existed; I want you to only remember your giving lessons as a nightmare which has passed and gone. I want you to take a position in the world, to go into society---- _Lucy._ But, Harold---- _Harold._ To entertain, receive, lead---- _Lucy._ But I could never lead. I detest receiving. I hate entertaining---- _Harold._ Except me. _Lucy._ I often wonder if I do. You are so clever and I---- _Harold._ Such a goose. Whatever put such ideas into your head? Why, you are actually crying. _Lucy._ I am not. _Harold._ Then what is that? [_Puts his finger against her cheek._] What is that little sparkling drop? _Lucy._ It must be a tear of joy, then. _Harold._ Which shall be used to christen the book! _Lucy._ Oh, don't--there, you have left a mark. _Harold._ It is your fault. My finger wouldn't have done it by itself. Are you going to be silly any more? _Lucy._ No, I am not. _Harold._ And you are going to love me, believe in me, and trust me? _Lucy._ I do all three--implicitly. _Harold._ [_He kisses her._] The seal of the trinity. [_Looks at his watch._] By jove, I must be going. _Lucy._ So soon? _Harold._ Rather; I have to dine in Berkeley Square at eight o'clock, at Sir Humphrey Mockton's. You would like their house, it's a beauty, a seventeenth or eighteenth century one, with such a gorgeous old staircase. He's awfully rich, and just a little bit vulgar--"wool" I think it was, or "cottons," or some other commodity; but his daughter is charming--I should say daughters, as there are two of them, so you needn't be jealous. _Lucy._ Jealous? of course I am not. Have you known them long?