sullen). It is not true.

Jane. It is true! Your son told me.

Hargrave. Jack is not my son. He is only mine by adoption.

Jane. He told me that too, but he also told me about your brother. You met him this very morning in the Park.

Hargrave. I admit that. But till this very morning I believed my brother was dead, as dead as my own father is today. And now how does he show himself! As a man with whom one would care to associate? (With sudden inspiration.) No, as a thief, an unrepentant, petty thief; and Jack will tell you that also.

Jane (a little taken aback). How did you happen to call him Jack, Peter? I think John were infinitesimally nicer.

Hargrave. Jack would hardly have had a name at all if it hadn't been for me. He might have had nothing but a number.

Jane. A number?

Hargrave. Yes, a number! I found him the very morning after you sailed, Jane, a babe in arms, bound heart and soul to a School for Socialism.

Jane (eagerly). A School for Socialism! Where, Peter?

Hargrave (complacently). At Canterbury, under the direction of—

Jane (beside herself with excitement). Of a most eminent man, a charming gentleman by the name of—

Hargrave. Under the direction of a wholly worthless, degraded rascal, who has dogged my footsteps from that day to this, who has even threatened my life, and who has been the one and only cause of my assuming the name of Hargrave.

Jane. His name?

Hargrave. His name is Crapsey! And he has even followed me to this country.

Jane. Oh! (Sinks into chair.)

Hargrave. When I stole him from that pernicious place, his sole mark of identification was John, plain John, Disciple No. 1, in Crapsey's School for Socialism. (Bell rings overhead.)

Jane. You stole him, Peter, and your act was as free to censure as any committed by your brother.

Hargrave. Ssh!

Jane. I won't be still. I want to tell you right now.

Hargrave (terrified). There's someone at the door.

Jane. I don't care. They can hear too if they want to. (Gets up.)

Hargrave. Consider my position, Jane. I couldn't really ... I couldn't have a woman in my rooms. There, there, now! (Takes her arm.) You are all flushed—and the rouge is beginning to come off. (Jane instantly subsides.) This is my son's room. You may rest here for a while ... or at least until my visitors have gone. (Bowing complacently.) Love lingers in the spring and doubtless they are only some happy couple tasting for the first time that desire for the fruits of marriage which is the divine purport of our youth. (Shuts door securely on her. Sighs with relief and wipes his glasses carefully. Then after a moment's conflict with his vanity, returns and places them on the table. This done he tiptoes to the door and apparently observing but one person, shouts down the stairs.) Come in, sir! (Dill's head appears immediately through the opening, quite startling Hargrave who retreats before it. Dill still wears knickerbockers and a wondrous black cape falls from his massive shoulders. On second appearance he is followed by Gloria, dressed in her very best and carrying a large colored satchel. She is somewhat out of sorts at the delay and is coaxed and fondled by Dill.)

Hargrave (bowing). Ah, two strolling minstrels, I perceive.

Dill (punctiliously). No, sir. No, sir. We understood that you were a minister, sir.

Hargrave (his hands clasped behind his back). My heart and home are ever at the disposal of my flock.

Gloria. (motioning Dill to be still). You'll excuse the nature of our visit, sir, but you see my husband (blushes a little)—or rather I should have said the man who is to be my husband—

Dill (to Gloria). Both, my love, both.

Gloria (bluntly). There was no time to be lost and we must get married.

Hargrave. Ah, love is a tender thing, and her call is always urgent.

Dill. I overheard your son observe that you are to be unfrocked, sir—and so we just thought we'd take you while there was still time. (Aside.) There's only one time for marriage, and that's when the lady gives her consent.

Hargrave (now scowling and suspicious). My son?

Gloria. Dillingham, you are always rendering the most unpleasant surprises. (At mention of his brother's name, Hargrave stands stupefied, then with a fleeting glance over his shoulder, rushes back to the table and adjusts his glasses.) Perhaps Mr. Hargrave does not care to acknowledge that he has a son, and what you said about being unfrocked was ungentlemanly. (Hargrave glares at Dill and stations himself in front of Jane's door.)

Hargrave (trembling with emotion). Do I understand, sir, that you trespass upon my hearth entertaining visions of matrimony? (Dill and Gloria are stupefied by Hargrave's peculiar behavior.)

Dill (very sweetly). That's it, sir.

Hargrave. Then I take pleasure to inform you, sir, that it cannot be done.

Dill. But it must be done, sir. I have made a careful canvass of the ministry, and I find them all to be extinct at present, sir. They're like the birds and butterflies, sir, and are forever migrating at this season of the year. You're the only one that hasn't wings at present, sir.

Gloria. Be quiet, Dill. It's love that makes the world go around, Mr. Hargrave.

Hargrave. It's love that makes the world stand still, I say. Besides, in this country at least marriage is illegal. The Constitution expressly provides that no man shall be deprived of the right of health, happiness, and the pursuit of freedom.

Gloria. That's why we are going to change the Constitution, Mr. Hargrave.

Hargrave. Anyway there's no room here. A correct marriage requires space for tears and relatives.

Dill (in the corner). I think we might try it here, sir.

Hargrave (superciliously). I am not in favor of trial marriages. Marriage itself is responsible for the alarming decrease in the birth-rate so prevalent throughout the world.

Gloria (sweetly). I think Mr. Hargrave is superstitious, dear.

Hargrave (snatching at the straw). I am. I am.

Dill. I always try to harbor superstitions in the heart, sir, and to remove them as far from the mind as possible.

Hargrave (advancing with a crafty smile). Ah, well! So be it then. My own experience with