this country, that he might feel the neglect of the only mother he can call his own? What of your son!

Jane. My son?

Gloria. Your son!

Jane. I have no son.

Gloria. Ever since your return from London I have been told that you had a husband, and you have told me that you had a son. You said his name was John.

Jane. Suit yourself, Gloria. I have a son.

Gloria. And John is now?

Jane (hesitating—then with real enthusiasm). At a School for Socialism in Canterbury.

Gloria. A School for Socialism!

Jane. Yes, and until John's twentieth year there is completed he must remain in socialistic hands.

Gloria. You are not for socialism, Jane?

Jane. I am not enough interested in myself, Gloria, to be interested in others. However, I am for socialism till the advent of socialism, then I shall be for something else.

Gloria. And this school—had it a founder?

Jane. Yes, a Col. Christopher Crapsey. A really lovable man. The idea was wholly his, and wholly original too. The school has prospered and is now one of the largest in England. From all that I hear John is its prize pupil.

Gloria. But are you sure, Jane, that Crapsey is quite, quite reliable?

Jane. I am never sure of anything, Gloria. But Crapsey is in this country now and you may judge for yourself. He wrote me yesterday to say that he was coming to see me on a matter of importance, of the very first importance. I suppose he had reference to John.

Gloria. I should never trust any man, Jane. They give us children and suffering and that is all. Pain has ever been the path of woman.

Jane. They talk a lot about the pain of women, Gloria, but it's not so. Slender waists are still the style.

Gloria. Nevertheless I should investigate for myself.

Jane. And Kathryn—what would you do about her?

Gloria (holding up letter). Kathryn will understand when she has read this. It is from her father and explains everything.

Jane. I am glad that Kathryn's father is a man of letters. Few Englishmen can boast of that. But is Kathryn to become your daughter, or will she remain with me?

Gloria. For twenty years Kathryn has been your daughter. She has been your daughter and nobody else's. Kathryn thinks she is your daughter. She acts like your daughter. (Rises.) And now—when I had expected some vast upheaval of your nature, some evidence of more than a petty affection, you cast her off for a son whom you have scarcely seen. You have no maternal instinct whatever.

Jane. I am sorry, Gloria. But when one puts money into a thing one expects some return—even if it is a son. And I have spent a great deal of dollars on John's education.

Gloria. How mercenary you are! And here Kathryn has barely a stitch on her back. (Enter Dill.)

Jane. That's due to the new fashions, Gloria. (Clock strikes. Reënter Jack.)

Dill (to Gloria). There's a bit of Convolvulus in the air, my lady. (Kathryn steals in unnoticed.)

Jane. A bit of what, Dill? I've heard that name before. Have you ever heard of the Convolvulus, Jack? It sounds as round as a race-track.

Jack (watch in hand). I don't know, Jane. I haven't followed the flowers for years.

Gloria. Oh, it's only an ordinary flower that grows in the Park. I don't think it even has a smell, but Dill says I'm named after it.

Jack. That's not true, Gloria. There's only one Convolvulus, and that's Kathryn. I named her that yesterday. Besides, who ever heard of a Convolvulus Gloria or a Gloria Convolvulus? It's absurd.

Kathryn (emptying flowers over Jack's head). Well, here are some anyway. A flower for you, Jack. And mother, a flower for you, too. A Convolvulus for each of you.

Kathryn. is picturesque and pretty. A little too young to be anything but herself, she is nicely original. Her favorite books are Brieux and Browning, with a little Tennyson in the summer. She believes in the soul, and has one.

Jack. You are just in time, Kathryn. I have something of importance to tell you.

Gloria. And I have an important letter for you.

Kathryn. Oh, mother—you know how I have always wanted one. Do you think it could be from—father?

Jane. I don't know, dear. I'm going to look for a book on mothers and I'll know more about parents in general when I come back. (Goes out C.)

Kathryn (to herself). Of course not; how silly of me. Why it hasn't even a postage stamp, to say nothing of a foreign one.

Gloria. I shouldn't read it now, dear, anyhow. (Prepares to go.)

Jack. I shouldn't read it at all. I think Gloria wrote it herself.

Gloria. If you have any intention of marrying Mr. Hargrave, Kathryn, I should advise you to teach his son better manners. (Exit.)

Kathryn. I'm afraid you're too young, Jack, for me to ever teach you anything. (Turns her back on him.)

Jack (with his back to her). I'm old enough to be thoroughly cross—and rebellious, Kathryn.

Kathryn (facing about). Jack, you're not, and such remarks are thoroughly disrespectful. One of the first lessons in life a young man must learn is never to rebel against a woman.

Jack. I distinctly rebel against your proposing to my father. I was with father most of the morning and took especial pains that he should meet no one. Where did you find him?

Kathryn. I discovered him in the Park, Jack. He was wandering about as aimlessly as a child, and I am sure had no earthly idea of where he was going.

Jack. Yes, father moves very much like a planet at times, doesn't he? But then I'm not responsible for his defects. (Nestles beside her.)

Kathryn. I don't think your father has any defects.

Jack (continuing). And then father's a terrible failure. But one expects that. The old are all failures. It is only from a very young man that one demands immediate, impossible success.

Kathryn. Before you talk so much about others, Jack, you might educate yourself a little.

Jack. Oh, I don't believe in education, Kathryn. What has education done for this country? One-hundred-million Philistines?

Kathryn. What a silly thing to say, Jack. (Strokes his hair.)

Jack. It makes no difference what one says, Kathryn, so long as one says something.

Kathryn. You're very irreverent, Jack. (Pushes him aside.)

Jack. Please don't call me Jack! I'd so much prefer a number.

Kathryn. A number?

Jack. Yes, a number. I know Shakespeare was thinking of me when