Of course he is! What a goose you are to hide like that!
He seems a nice, quiet, gentle man; and _so_ clever.
What good hands he has, hasn't he? (_Approaching TOPSY and whispering in her ear._) Your hair's going into your eyes, my dear. Toss it back in that pretty way you have. (_TOPSY tosses her head; the soft, golden bell of hair quivers elastically about her ears._) That's right!
(_Bounding into the air and landing with feet apart, knees bent, and a hand on either knee._) Oh, nyum nyum!
Oh, the beauty of that movement! It simply makes one catch one's breath with surprised pleasure, as the gesture of a perfect dancer might.
Beautiful, wasn't it?--a pleasure purely æsthetic and æsthetically pure. Listen to Cain.
(_To TOPSY._) And do you ever try writing yourself? I'm sure you ought to.
Yes, yes, we're sure you ought to. Eh, Cain?
Well, I have written a little poetry--or rather a few bad verses--at one time or another.
Well . . . (_hesitating_) about different things, you know. (_She fans herself rather nervously._)
(_Leaning over TOPSY'S shoulder and addressing ASTON directly._) Mostly about Love. (_She dwells long and voluptuously on the last word, pronouncing it "lovv" rather than "luvv."_)
Oh, dat's good, dat's good; dat's dam good. (_In moments of emotion CAIN'S manners and language savour more obviously than usual of the Old Plantation._) Did yoh see her face den?
(_Repeats, slowly and solemnly._) Mostly about Love.
Oh, oh. (_She covers her face with her hands._) How could you? It makes me tingle all over. (_She runs behind the kadapoo tree again._)
(_Very seriously and intelligently._) Really. That's very interesting. I wish you'd let me see what you've done some time.
We always like to see these things, don't we, Aston? Do you remember Mrs. Towler? How pretty she was! And the way we criticized her literary productions. . . .
Mrs. Towler. . . . (_He shudders as though he had touched something soft and filthy._) Oh, don't, Jasper, don't!
Dear Mrs. Towler! We were very nice about her poems, weren't we? Do you remember the one that began:
"My Love is like a silvern flower-de-luce Within some wondrous dream-garden pent: God made my lovely lily not for use, But for an ornament."