_Muriel._ Yes; with pleasure. VIOLA has had my organ put in the billiard-room, to be out of the way.
_Claude_ (_as he and_ MURIEL _go into the billiard-room_). The worst point about these clever boys is that they are so cynical! No sentiment--no heart!
_Alan_ (_to_ VIOLA). You have very wonderful eyes, Mrs. TRAVERS, haven't you?
_Alan._ You know you have. Do you believe in palmistry?
_Alan._ I don't know whether I believe in it, I _like_ it.... Your line of life....
_Albert._ That boy is bewildering! He flits over every subject under the sun! Have a game of piquet, AVERIDGE?
_In the Billiard-room._ MURIEL _playing the organ_. CLAUDE _by her side trying to look like_ DICKSEE'S _picture, "Harmony."_
_Claude._ Do you ever have that curious feeling that you are doing exactly what you have done before, hearing--seeing something for the second time?
_Muriel._ Oh, yes! continually! I felt it during the whole of dinner!
_Claude._ Do you think it shows we knew each other in a previous existence, Miss VANE?
_Muriel._ No. I am afraid it only shows that you sometimes repeat yourself.
_Claude._ How can you be so unkind, and yet look such a perfect angel!
_Muriel._ I feel exactly like St. Cecilia when I am playing the organ.
_Claude._ And _I_ feel like St. Anthony, Miss VANE.
_Alan._ To get right away from people, to take a drive together, and bathe our heads in the golden sunlight! In secret! Do--_do_ let us, Mrs. TRAVERS!
[Illustration: "Bathing her head in the golden sunlight."]
_Viola._ It _would_ be nice! ALBERT is going to town for the day, and the AVERIDGES are going for an excursion.... But what could we drive in?
_Alan._ Oh, _I_ will arrange that. I will hire a dog-cart in the village; and we must meet in a lane, or a field, or something. And you must say you have been to teach the orphan boy to sew or something. It would be too sweet!
_Alan._ _Don't_ call me Master ROY. Call me ALAN--when no one is listening.
_Viola._ ALAN--wouldn't it be much simpler, merely to say we were going for a drive, and to order the carriage?
_Viola._ Very well! Then _mind_ you don't tell anyone!
_Alan._ Not tell anyone, Mrs. TRAVERS! But what's the use of a secret if one doesn't tell it to everyone?
_Alan._ I was only joking, dear Mrs. TRAVERS. At three, then.... Sh-sh! (_He picks up her fan with the air of a conspirator._) If I think of anything else, I'll write a little note, and put it under the clock on that mantelpiece. Shall I?