Gloria. On condition that you continue to serve me as faithfully as you have in the past.
Dill (clasping her hands). Ah, my beloved one! Light of my life! Blessed of women! (His head sinks upon her lap. Enter Kathryn and Jack. Each has an arm about the other's waist. Their eyes are glued on each other's, and they proceed very, very slowly.)
Jack. My dear, you could hardly expect them both to belong to the same class. That is never the way. One is always rich, the other poor. One is always good, the other bad. Ask one of them and see! But if what I tell you is not convincing, consider the words of Shakespeare, England's great minor poet, who in a fit of melancholy once exclaimed—"Some are born with parents, others acquire them. But most of us just have the genus thrust upon us." (Gloria is unsuccessfully endeavoring to extricate herself from her embarrassing position.)
Kathryn. Jack, you really should not speak that way of England's poet. Your own father told me this morning that no man could hope to understand Shakespeare until he was forty. And that then he wouldn't understand him.
Jack. I don't doubt it. But you forget, Kathryn, that I never had a father, and that hereafter my responsibilities are numbered. (They wheel slowly upon them.)
Kathryn. Oh—father!
Jack. What an extraordinary posture, Dill! Are you aware of your menial, Miss Gibbs? (To Kathryn.) He must think it's a circus. He's trying to stand on his head.
Kathryn (looking away). Perhaps he's praying.
Jack. Arise, sir, in the presence of your superiors! (Dill gets up very guiltily.) And why these bags and bundles, pray? Is your man about to start a millinery establishment, Miss Gibbs?
Gloria (almost in tears). Mr. Hargrave! This gentleman is not my servant. This gentleman is soon to be my husband!