AMY. ‘It is about the drawing-room curtains.’
COSMO. ‘Good lord!’ As soon as he has gone they rush at each other; they don’t embrace; they stop when their noses are an inch apart, and then talk. This is the stage way for lovers. It is difficult to accomplish without rubbing noses, but they have both been practising.
GINEVRA. ‘Quick, Amy, did you get the letters?’
Ginevra is so taken aback that her nose bobs. Otherwise the two are absolutely motionless. She cleverly recovers herself.
GINEVRA. ‘No letters; how unlike life. You are quite sure?’
AMY. ‘No, merely a painful indiscretion. But if father had known it--you know what husbands are.’
GINEVRA. ‘Yes, indeed. Did he follow her?’
Amy nods. ‘Did you hide?’ Amy nods again.
AMY. ‘Worse than that, Ginevra. To deceive him I had to pretend that I was the woman. And now--Ginevra, can you guess?--’ Here they have to leave off doing noses. On the stage it can be done for ever so much longer, but only by those who are paid accordingly.
AMY. ‘I think I do, but what do you mean?’
AMY. ‘Then it is, yes. Ginevra, I am affianced to the man, Steve!’ Ginevra could here quickly drink a glass of water if there was one in the room.
GINEVRA, wandering round her old friend, ‘You seem the same, Amy, yet somehow different.’
AMY, rather complacently, ‘That is just how I feel. But I must not think of myself. They are overhead, Ginevra. There is an awful scene taking place--up there. She is telling father all.’
AMY. ‘Everything--in a noble attempt to save me from a widowed marriage.’
GINEVRA. ‘But I thought she was such a hard woman.’
AMY. ‘Not really. To the world perhaps; but I have softened her. All she needed, Ginevra, to bring out her finer qualities was a strong nature to lean upon; and she says that she has found it in me. At the theatre and all the way home--’
GINEVRA. ‘Then you did go to the theatre. Why?’
AMY, feeling that Ginevra is very young, ‘Need you ask? Oh, Ginevra, to see if we could find a happy ending. It was mother’s idea.’
AMY. ‘I don’t know, but the erring wife confessed all--in one of those mousselines de soie that are so fashionable this year; and mother and I sat--clasping each other’s hands, praying it might end happily, though we didn’t see how it could.’
