he said there was nothing in a name.

Kathryn. You're always comparing yourself to Shakespeare, Jack, and I don't like it. Shakespeare was a great poet, and you're not even a poet at all. (Moves away.)

Jack (with mock gallantry). The earth should not always be told it cannot rival the sun.

Kathryn. That's better.

Jack. But seriously, I do wish I had a number.

Kathryn. You're not a futurist, Jack?

Jack. I'm far too futile for that. But I believe in numbers in place of names.

Kathryn. That's just nonsense, Jack.

Jack. It's not nonsense. Numbers are necessary and convenient. Moreover, I for one am entirely in accord with the socialistic idea of the separation of parent and child. (Rises.) A School for Socialism is the one thing most needed today—some place a child may be put and not molested by its parents, adopted or otherwise. Each child should have a number, a perfectly reliable number, one that was all his own and inherited from no one.

Kathryn. I don't think your father would like to hear you talk that way, Jack.

Jack. No, but then you must remember that father is a back number.

Kathryn. I don't care.

Jack. No woman ever does. Lack of care is their distinction.

Kathryn. And lack of character a man's.

Jack. Then you are no longer my Convolvulus?

Kathryn. It's too late. You had your chance and didn't take it. Never overlook an opportunity with a woman, you might change your mind.

Jack. Gloria said she was named after that flower, and I of course denied it. I said that you were my Convolvulus—my white Convolvulus.

Kathryn. I am your father's Convolvulus now, Jack. What's more, he's coming to tea. (Reënter Jane.)

Jack. Well, of all that's outrageous! Tea? At this hour? It's three-fifteen, and they're deep in their dinners in London by now.

Jane. The clock may be set back, Jack. (A pause.)

Kathryn. Jack's father was telling me about his poor lost brother.

Jack. Oh, I'm not so sure that he's poor, or lost either—at least not till tomorrow.

Jane. Why what do you mean, Jack? You said he was dead, to me these few minutes ago.

Kathryn. And your father isn't even looking for him any longer.

Jack. Looking for him? I should say not! When people look for things they find them. When they look for children they are successful. And the same rule applies to brothers. Parents are harder to locate and it is their redeeming feature. But father has found his brother! He found him this morning in the Park—found him with his own eyes, or rather his glasses. Father can see anywhere with his glasses, and nowhere with his eyes. If it were not for his glasses he'd be like other people.

Kathryn. I don't believe this imputation against your father. You think you can win my love by foully maligning his character and making him appear as wicked as yourself. But you cannot. I don't believe one word you have spoken, not one! (Throws herself on sofa.) Your father doesn't wear glasses! You have tried to deceive me. (Enter Gloria.)

Gloria. He has deceived me too. But my charge is of a more serious nature. Jane herself could not have been guilty of such conduct. You have tampered with the dearest thing it is a woman's privilege to possess. You have mocked that which was only mine to give and yours to take. You have sullied a woman's name. (Jack looks appealing to Jane and Kathryn. Both scorn him.)

Jack (on bended knees). Gloria! (His hands are uplifted in prayer.)

Gloria (holding flower). When I said I was named after that flower you denied it. But my name is Gloria and the Convolvulus is mine by baptism. (Bell rings. Dill goes out.)

Jane. He has been guilty of the grossest deception.

Kathryn. Of the very grossest deception. We could never trust him now. (They lock arms and saunter across the stage together.)

Gloria. He has! The Convolvulus is nothing but a Morning Glory, and I was named after it. If I were not so very stationary I should pick some now. I should pick a whole bundle of them.

Kathryn (most severely). Your father does not wear glasses. You must promise never to say such a thing again.

Jack. And to think that of all days father should have chosen this one to forget his glasses.

Jane. Love is blind, Jack. (Enter Dill out of breath.) Perhaps that explains it.

Dill. Mr. Hargrave, Miss Kathryn.

A white flower peeps clumsily from Hargrave's buttonhole. He wears the usual vest and has the unusual voice of a member of the clergy. His hair is long, and as he has apparently forgotten his glasses, he stands in the doorway quite, quite confused.

Kathryn (running up to him). Oh, you dear, dear man! (Takes his hand.) Of course you don't wear them, do you? (Calling.) Jack, let me introduce you to your father. Mr. Hargrave, let me introduce you to your son.

Hargrave (groping about and wiping his forehead uneasily). My son?

Kathryn. Jack—your father!

Jack. I am not his son, and he is not my father. I consider his presence an intrusion, a disgrace. You shall be unfrocked, sir, at the first opportunity.

Hargrave (marching up to Jane). How dare you, sir! How dare you speak so disrespectfully of your father!

Jane. Mr. Hargrave, I am not your son—although you certainly do look familiar. (Hargrave has floundered to the other end of the room and is being cared for by Dill, who mops his face with a big handkerchief.)

Jack. I know, father, there's great suffering among the rich in this hot weather. Do you think you'd still care to marry him, Jane?

Jane. I'm not sure, Jack. Your father looks very much like someone I almost married before.

Jack. Ah, in that case you'd hardly care to repeat the experiment. (Waves to them.) Goodbye, Kathryn. Come soon and find his glasses.

Kathryn. No, I'd rather read my letter.

Jane. I'm not a bad looker, Jack. And I have a new high hat which reaches to Heaven.

Jack. No more than mine, Jane. It's from the Alps. (Takes his arm.) This way, father. You don't drink tea anyway. (They go out. Jane strolls off.)

Kathryn (to Dill). Do you think, Dill, do you think that a man could ever be a success in life, I mean a real success like you have, who wore glasses?

Dill. In my capacity, Miss Kathryn, I have often wished I wore them. There are so many things it's best not to