MELISANDE (looking at him gravely). That's nice of you, Bobby. Please forgive me. I wasn't fair.
BOBBY. I swear I never said anything to anybody else, only your mother. And it sort of came out with her. She began talking about you—
MELISANDE. I know.
BOBBY. But I never told anybody else.
MELISANDE. It wouldn't be necessary if you told Mother.
BOBBY. I'm awfully sorry, but I really don't see why you should mind so much. I mean, I know I'm not anybody very much, but I can't help falling in love with you, and—well, it is a sort of a compliment to you, isn't it?—even if it's only me.
MELISANDE. Of course it is, Bobby, and I do thank you for the compliment. But mixing Mother up in it makes it all so—so unromantic. (After a pause) Sometimes I think I shall never marry.
BOBBY. Oh, rot! . . . I say, you do like me, don't you?
MELISANDE. Oh yes. You are a nice, clean-looking Englishman—I don't say beautiful—
BOBBY. I should hope not!