be mistaken.

Jack. No—she proposed to me yesterday.

Jane. And did you accept?

Jack. No, I wanted to surprise Kathryn by refusing, and then to startle her by proposing myself. This afternoon I have chosen for my surprise. Three o'clock I think would be the appropriate hour.

Jane. The surprise, Jack, may be yours, but the romance remains with Kathryn. Eve will out, you know, and Kathryn has proposed again.

Jack. Again! May I ask who it is who has been so bold as to be proposed to?

Jane. Oh, it's still in the family.

Jack. The family?

Jane. Yes, Kathryn has proposed to your father. She said her love for you was of no import, that her love for your father was based upon degrees of reverential confidence which marriage alone could be trusted to dispel.

Jack (rising). I presume, Jane, that you refer to somebody else's father.

Jane. Your very own.

Jack. Impossible!

Jane. She recognized him at once.

Jack. How so?

Jane. By his resemblance to you.

Jack. Improbable.

Jane. Why so?

Jack (seating himself). I have no father.

Jane. Of course if you have no father, that settles it. You have often spoken to us of one, just the same.

Jack. So I have. But he's not a real father.

Gloria. What sort of a father is it that's not a real father?

Jack. Oh, mine's adopted.

Jane. You mean that you're an orphan, an adopted son, or something of the sort?

Jack. Yes; father found me; on a Friday.

Jane. Found you? On a Friday?

Gloria (rising). I don't see anything peculiar in the day at all, Jane. It is one of the seven, and to be found in all the best calendars. (Brusquely.) Have you found Kathryn, Jack? (Enter Dill.)

Jack. I think I have. I think she's in the next room. (Edges off C.)

Dill. Pardon the contradiction, sir, but Miss Kathryn is in the Park. Picking convolvulus I think. Convolvulus very sweet today, sir.

Jack. Was she alone, Dill?

Dill (gaily). No, sir; no, sir. I think she's with your father, sir. (Retreats before Jack's glance.)

Jack (wheeling about). Foolish father! foolish father! Really I cannot begin to account for such conduct on my parent's part. The sense of family obligation in the old is appallingly on the wane. But perhaps he's forgotten his glasses. Father's been wearing glasses for twenty years and performs the most revolting capers whenever he's without them. He becomes a boy all over again. (Stands in curtain way.) Have you got a book on fathers, Jane? Or perhaps I'll see him from the window. (Stretches himself out in inner room where he may be observed throughout remainder of scene.)

Gloria (matter-of-factly). I think a book on daughters is what you really need, Jane. (Fans herself.) I need not say that Kathryn has never been a daughter to you. (They sit facing each other.)

Jane. Of course not, Gloria. How could she have been? But Kathryn is my adopted daughter.

Gloria (very determinedly). Kathryn is not your daughter at all! Kathryn is my daughter.

Jane. How unexpected, Gloria! Since when did you discover this?

Gloria. I have never discovered it at all, of course. I have known it from the first.

Jane. Then that Friday, that biblical Friday, twenty years ago, when you came to me with tears in your eyes—and a basket and a baby—

Gloria. I did it for your sake, Jane. I thought it would add to your character.

Jane. Why didn't you adopt Kathryn yourself, Gloria? You might have done that for your daughter.

Gloria. For reasons of my own, and my husband's, I thought it best to allow you to.

Jane. Your child is quite your treasure, Gloria, you hide it so cleverly. As for your husband, I think you must have buried him.

Gloria. We were married on our trip to London—yours and mine. My husband's father did not approve of the match and our marriage was annulled. Events which have since transpired allow us to be reunited.

Jane. It seems very strange this, your marrying your own husband.

Gloria (radiantly). It is strange, beautifully, idealistically strange. Oh, you never could believe me, never!

Jane. I believed you once, Gloria.

Gloria (turning quickly). In the exact spot where I said I had found the basket—

Jane. And with which Kathryn picks posies now—

Gloria. It was there that I found the will!

Jane. What will, Gloria?

Gloria. The will leaving everything to my husband—on condition that we were married—that is, left it to us as man and wife.

Jane. So you think the will won't hold?

Gloria. Not unless we are married, and immediately.

Jane. It is a great temptation, Gloria, I admit.

Gloria. More than that; my husband takes a title.

Jane. Oh, I detest titles—American titles at any rate. In America a title is the conventional crown to which the rich and poor alike must bow. Every professional man, every silly doctor and scientist holds some title by the hand with which he is clubbing us on the head. Once we assert ourselves, feel instinctively that which he never could comprehend, down comes the cudgel.

Gloria. You don't think my husband is going to beat me?

Jane. I don't know, I can't say.

Gloria (proudly). My husband is a baronet.

Jane. Then probably he will.

Gloria. I tell you frankly that my husband is not going to beat me. The English haven't beaten anybody in years, and I'm not going to be the first. (Going closer to her.) Jane, why do you insist upon calling yourself Jane Gibbs? Would not your husband's name, or even Mrs. Gibbs, be better? You must think of Kathryn and your husband.

Jane. My husband?

Gloria. Your husband! (Drawing still closer, her curiosity lending a tone of affection.) Who is your husband, Jane? I have always been most curious.

Jane (shrugging her shoulders). Indeed I am sorry, Gloria. I know that curiosity never should be allowed to go unanswered, but I have no husband.

Gloria (at the point of tears). Jane, this is terrible! I sanctioned Kathryn's adoption believing you at least had that. What of her? What of your son? I thought that constant association with my daughter might arouse some affection for him whom you have evidently disowned. Have you never thought that he might want to visit