MRS. CLANDON. What on earth are they going to do? (Going out.) I really must go and stop this-- (She follows them, speaking as she disappears. Gloria stares coolly at Valentine, and then deliberately looks at her watch.) VALENTINE. I understand. I've stayed too long. I'm going. GLORIA (with disdainful punctiliousness). I owe you some apology, Mr. Valentine. I am conscious of having spoken somewhat sharply-- perhaps rudely--to you. VALENTINE. Not at all. GLORIA. My only excuse is that it is very difficult to give consideration and respect when there is no dignity of character on the other side to command it. VALENTINE (prosaically). How is a man to look dignified when he's infatuated? GLORIA (effectually unstilted). Don't say those things to me. I forbid you. They are insults. VALENTINE. No: they're only follies. I can't help them. GLORIA. If you were really in love, it would not make you foolish: it would give you dignity--earnestness--even beauty. VALENTINE. Do you really think it would make me beautiful? (She turns her back on him with the coldest contempt.) Ah, you see you're not in earnest. Love can't give any man new gifts. It can only heighten the gifts he was born with. GLORIA (sweeping round at him again). What gifts were you born with, pray? VALENTINE. Lightness of heart. GLORIA. And lightness of head, and lightness of faith, and lightness of everything that makes a man. VALENTINE. Yes, the whole world is like a feather dancing in the light now; and Gloria is the sun. (She rears her head angrily.) I beg your pardon: I'm off. Back at nine. Good-bye. (He runs off gaily, leaving her standing in the middle of the room staring after him.) END OF ACT III ACT IV The same room. Nine o'clock. Nobody present. The lamps are lighted; but the curtains are not drawn. The window stands wide open; and strings of Chinese lanterns are glowing among the trees outside, with the starry sky beyond. The band is playing dance-music in the garden, drowning the sound of the sea. The waiter enters, shewing in Crampton and McComas. Crampton looks cowed and anxious. He sits down wearily and timidly on the ottoman. WAITER. The ladies have gone for a turn through the grounds to see the fancy dresses, sir. If you will be so good as to take seats, gentlemen, I shall tell them. (He is about to go into the garden through the window when McComas stops him.) McCOMAS. One moment. If another gentleman comes, shew him in without any delay: we are expecting him. WAITER. Right, sir. What name, sir? McCOMAS. Boon. Mr. Boon. He is a stranger to Mrs. Clandon; so he may give you a card. If so, the name is spelt B.O.H.U.N. You will not forget.