marriage is limited. However I will say this much for it. If it weren't for marriage a man could not honorably part with a woman.

Gloria (in a low voice). I said Mr. Hargrave was the proper person to apply to, Dill.

Hargrave. We will first examine the license.

Gloria. License?

Hargrave (in the most insulting manner). All women are not licensed in this country I am sorry to say. In that the continental custom is far better. However, before they are married they must be licensed. At any rate do you think we should have them running around at large?

Dill. Here is the license, sir.

Hargrave (examining it critically). I don't see your ages here.

Dill. We are both forty. (Gloria is about to remonstrate.)

Hargrave. Hm—really, sir, I must object to that. I myself am forty and should not dream of marrying yet. You are both far too young.

Dill. If you insist, sir, I am a little over forty.

Hargrave (squinting). And your names are?

Gloria. Gloria Gibbs.

Dill. Sir John Dillingham Kent.

Hargrave. Do I infer that you are a gentleman?

Dill. Oh, yes, sir. Even my brother was that.

Hargrave. And your social standing?

Gloria (whispering loudly). Bart, Dill, Bart!

Dill. Br ... butler.

Hargrave. That settles it. I cannot marry a butler posing as a gentleman. (Acts as if about to show them out.)

Gloria. There is nothing in the Bible which says anything against marrying a butler, Mr. Hargrave. Pharaoh's chief adviser was a butler, as you yourself know. (There is no Bible to be seen and she stares at Hargrave deprecatingly.)

Hargrave (eyeing Dill as if choking would be a pleasure). And Pharaoh hung him by the neck, if I am not mistaken.

Dill. The baker, sir, the baker. Very mixing indeed, sir.

Hargrave. As God is my baker—I mean my maker—I swear that I will have nothing further to do with the case. Under the most favorable conditions I can imagine my marrying a butler, or even a baker, for that matter, but with due respect to you, Miss Gibbs, I must (glances at cuff) decline to marry a butler, or even Pharaoh himself, to an idiot. The laws of hygiene govern that.

Dill. Sir!

Hargrave. My son has already informed me, Miss Gibbs, that you are an idiot, and I for one refuse to perform at any ceremony in which you are the principal.

Gloria (opening satchel). Mediocrity may be the foundation of my family, sir, but idiocy is not. However, I was prepared for that. I have found your son something of a clever idiot himself, and first accurate deductions led me to the belief that his father would be also. (Pulls out paper.) I have here complete and accurate credentials to certify that I have never suffered from Christian Science, Mental Science, Physical Science, Woman Suffrage, Eugenics, or any of the other seven deadly diseases so prevalent amongst my sex. I have also fully recorded a memorandum of the character and chief events of my life, including ventilation, vivisection, vaccination, marriage—

Hargrave. Marriage! (He gazes profoundly at them.)

Gloria. This is my second marriage, Mr. Hargrave.

Dill (apologetically). We have both been married before, sir. You see, sir—

Hargrave. I see. Are you calling attention to my glasses?

Dill. The fact is that we have each been married to each other, sir.

Hargrave (drawing himself haughtily together). Am I to gather that that is any evidence of her sanity? I say it's absurd. Any scientist in the country will tell you that a perfectly sane, healthy, well-organized marriage must end somewhere. All things do, and marriages have the habit, good or otherwise, of ending in divorce. It's their affinity.

Dill. Ah! But our marriage was annulled, sir. (Looks about him confident that victory is won.)

Hargrave. To you, sir, I owe an apology. When I informed Miss Gibbs of my decision in this important case, I had entirely overlooked you. Your marriage was annulled, you say?

Dill. I do, sir.

Hargrave. And you are starting proceedings all over again?

Dill (now dubious of his mastery of the situation). Yes, sir.

Hargrave. In that event I substantially alter my original assertion. I said she was an idiot, did I not?

Gloria. And I can prove to the contrary, Mr. Hargrave.

Hargrave. Any man or woman, not willing, but eager—as you have both shown yourselves to be—to repeat so dangerous an experiment, is clearly removed from that extremity of the body which we call mind. It is not a question of one idiot—you are both idiots.

Dill. Is not that a bit of an exaggeration, sir?

Hargrave. I think not.

Dill. I am sorry that Mr. Hargrave's son is not here, love. I know he would marry us.

Gloria. It's no use, Dill. Show Mr. Hargrave the will, and explain why we must be married. (Sound of Jack on the stairs.)

Hargrave. Yes, the will! Show me the will! (Reaches out for it.)

Jack. Father! I cannot find it! The will is lost! (Bursts upon them.)

Gloria (after a painful pause). What will, Mr. Hargrave? You seem extremely nervous. Can there be any relation between your will and ours? (Hargrave looks very faint.)

Dill. I don't know if there is any relation between the wills, my dear, but Mr. Jack said that his father took me for his brother. Of course Mr. Hargrave didn't know that my name was Kent. However, I had an uncle named Hargrave, and in case my brother is dead, one half of the estate shall be his.