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.

I was so fortunate as to meet the carriage.

LADY WARGRAVE.

Theodore was late as usual.

COLONEL.

Only ten minutes, Caroline; but, as you know, time, tide, and your aunt wait for no man.

LADY WARGRAVE.

Now, Gerald, let me look at you. Your face to the light, please. [Gerald stands for inspection. She takes a long look through her eye-glass.] I don’t like that necktie.

GERALD [smiling and bowing].

It shall be changed to-morrow, aunt.

LADY WARGRAVE.

To-day. [Gerald bows. She takes another look.] That will do, Gerald. [Gerald salutes. She drops her glasses.

COLONEL.

Stand at ease! Dismiss!

LADY WARGRAVE.

Theodore, this is not a barracks!

COLONEL.

True. [Bows.] Peccavi!

LADY WARGRAVE [addressing Gerald].

I need hardly say with what pleasure I have followed your career at Oxford. It is worthy of a Cazenove.

COLONEL.

Brilliant—magnificent!

LADY WARGRAVE.

It is worthy of a Cazenove; that is all.

[Colonel subsides, bowing.

GERALD.

Yes, aunt, I flatter myself——

LADY WARGRAVE.

Don’t do that. You did your duty. Nothing more.

GERALD.

By the way, did you receive my poem?

LADY WARGRAVE.

Poem?

GERALD.

That won the Newdigate. I sent you a copy—to Rome.

LADY WARGRAVE.

Ah, I remember; I received the document. Tell me, were there many competitors?

GERALD.

A dozen or so.

LADY WARGRAVE.

Is it possible that Oxford can produce eleven worse poems than yours?

GERALD.

My dear aunt!

[Colonel turns aside, chuckling, and finds himself face to face with Margery, laughing; both become suddenly serious.

MRS. SYLVESTER [advancing].

It is a work of genius—none but a true poet——

LADY WARGRAVE [half rising. Margery steps forward to help her].

I ask your pardon. Gerald, you haven’t introduced me!

GERALD.

Forgive me, Mrs. Sylvester—forgive me, aunt, but in the excitement of seeing you——

LADY WARGRAVE.

Sylvester!

COLONEL.

Wife of my old lieutenant. Captain now.

LADY WARGRAVE.

Wife of Jack Sylvester! I am pleased to meet you. I have known your husband almost from a boy. But I don’t see him.

[Looking round.

GERALD [confused].

He has just gone.

[Lady Wargrave looks from one to another. Slight pause.

MRS. SYLVESTER.

Mr. Cazenove and I are collaborating.

LADY WARGRAVE.

Oh! Captain Sylvester’s wife is collaborating with you?

GERALD.

On the ethics of marriage.

MRS. SYLVESTER.

Viewed from the standpoint of the higher morality.