VENABLES. I hope you will pardon my calling, Mrs. Shand; we had such a pleasant talk the other evening. [MAGGIE, of course, is at once deceived by his gracious manner.] MAGGIE. I think it’s kind of you. Do you know each other? The Comtesse de la Briere. [He repeats the name with some emotion, and the COMTESSE, half mischievously, half sadly, holds a hand before her face.] VENABLES. Comtesse. COMTESSE. Thirty years, Mr. Venables. [He gallantly removes the hand that screens her face.] VENABLES. It does not seem so much. [She gives him a similar scrutiny.] COMTESSE. Mon Dieu, it seems all that. [They smile rather ruefully. MAGGIE like a kind hostess relieves the tension.] MAGGIE. The Comtesse has taken a cottage in Surrey for the summer. VENABLES. I am overjoyed. COMTESSE. No, Charles, you are not. You no longer care. Fickle one! And it is only thirty years. [He sinks into a chair beside her.] VENABLES. Those heavenly evenings, Comtesse, on the Bosphorus. COMTESSE. I refuse to talk of them. I hate you. [But she drops the book, and MAGGIE fades from the room. It is not a very clever departure, and the old diplomatist smiles. Then he sighs a beautiful sigh, for he does all things beautifully.] VENABLES. It is moonlight, Comtesse, on the Golden Horn. COMTESSE. Who are those two young things in a caique? VENABLES. Is he the brave Leander, Comtesse, and is she Hero of the Lamp? COMTESSE. No, she is the foolish wife of the French Ambassador, and he is a good-for-nothing British attache trying to get her husband’s secrets out of her. VENABLES. Is it possible! They part at a certain garden gate. COMTESSE. Oh, Charles, Charles! VENABLES. But you promised to come back; I waited there till dawn. Blanche, if you HAD come back-- COMTESSE. How is Mrs. Venables? VENABLES. She is rather poorly. I think it’s gout. COMTESSE. And you? VENABLES. I creak a little in the mornings. COMTESSE. So do I. There is such a good man at Wiesbaden. VENABLES. The Homburg fellow is better. The way he patched me up last summer--Oh, Lord, Lord! COMTESSE. Yes, Charles, the game is up; we are two old fogies. [They groan in unison; then she raps him sharply on the knuckles.] Tell me, sir, what are you doing here? VENABLES. Merely a friendly call. COMTESSE. I do not believe it. VENABLES. The same woman; the old delightful candour. COMTESSE. The same man; the old fibs. [She sees that the door is asking a question.] Yes, come, Mrs. Shand, I have had quite enough of him; I warn you he is here for some crafty purpose. MAGGIE [drawing back timidly]. Surely not? VENABLES. Really, Comtesse, you make conversation difficult. To show that my intentions are innocent, Mrs. Shand, I propose that you choose the subject. MAGGIE [relieved]. There, Comtesse. VENABLES. I hope your husband is well? MAGGIE. Yes, thank you. [With a happy thought] I decide that we talk about him. VENABLES. If you wish it. COMTESSE. Be careful; HE has chosen the subject.