MRS. D. But which only the good-looking ones get. (_re-enter LUCY, down staircase, L._) No, Dionysius, it won't do! A little less of that fraternal sympathy, if you please.

LUCY. What's the matter, Mrs. Dozey? (_DR. DOZEY gets up, R._)

MRS. D. Matter! Why that stage-player----

LUCY. Mrs. Blake?

MRS. D. Has been at her stage tricks!

DR. (_crosses to R.C._) Diana, you are excited.

MRS. D. Well, I may be. (_crosses, R._) You never looked at _me_ as long as I caught you looking at _her._ (_going off, R._)

DR. My angel, I have been gazing at you steadfastly for a quarter of a century. (_Exit after her, R._)

_Re-enter TOM, through window, C.R._

TOM. Good gracious, Mrs. Dozey's wide-awake!

LUCY. She's caught the doctor napping this time. She seems quite jealous of Mrs. Blake already.

TOM. The widow? Has she come?

LUCY. I met her at the door.

TOM. Well, is she as charming as Sir Humphrey says?

LUCY. I suppose she must be. At the hotel when we first met her she turned everybody's head. Sir Humphrey was smitten on the spot, and as for Ned, well, he behaved disgracefully. I wish you weren't going, Tom!

TOM. Do you?

LUCY. I should like to see what impression she'd make upon _you._ I don't believe you could admire anybody.

TOM. Am I so hard to please?

LUCY. A regular old cynic!

TOM. And what's a cynic? A poor devil, who's fool enough to put into words the harshness wise men put into their deeds, and fool enough to put into deeds the kindness wise men put into their words. Your cynic is the softest of mankind, and as a rule he's been in love before he was a cynic. (_crosses to L._)

LUCY. (_crosses to R._) Surely you haven't?

TOM. I've been most things, Lucy.

LUCY. Except a husband. (_laughing_)

TOM. I've been that.

LUCY. (_crosses to TOM_) A husband! No! Surely you're joking? Oh, I can't believe it.

TOM. What's much more singular, I want to be married again.

LUCY. Were you so happy?

TOM. No, I wasn't happy.

LUCY. Didn't you like your wife?

TOM. Yes, I adored her. So did someone else.

LUCY. Well?

TOM. I suppose she adored him. (_sits R. of table_)

LUCY. She left you! (_getting back_)

TOM. No, I left _her!_ Six years ago! On a bright summer day--just such a day as this. As I pa.s.sed down the walk I caught my last glimpse of her through a window, as it might be there. (_pointing to window_) I can almost see her now, framed like a picture in the window frame, with the sun streaming down on her, for all the world like---- (_rises_)

_ALMA suddenly appears on the lawn outside, standing an instant in the sunshine, with her head turned to SIR HUMPHREY, who pa.s.ses the window a moment afterwards._

ALMA. Oh, what a lovely lawn! We must have tennis there, Sir Humphrey.

SIR H. If I could play the game----

ALMA. I'll teach you. (_they pa.s.s on, R., out of sight_)

LUCY. Tom, what's the matter?

TOM. Who was that--pa.s.sed the window?

LUCY. That was Mrs. Blake. What do you think of her?

TOM. Blake?

LUCY. I believe _you're_ smitten. Men are all alike.

TOM. Just in time--only just.

LUCY. What are you talking about? Just in time for what?

TOM. (_recovering himself_) My train, of course. I'd quite forgotten it. I must make haste, or I shall miss it.

LUCY. Don't run away like that.

TOM. Say good-bye to Sir Humphrey, will you, Lucy? Tell him to think no more about what I said just now. He'll understand you.

LUCY. Tom, you're not going in this way?

TOM. (_crosses to R._) I must go. (_turns to LUCY_) Make my apologies.