THE FELLOW: (Pointing with one hand at the right side of her jacket.) I beg your pardon. It seems that you know how to tell 'em, too. What's that, if it isn't a pocket?
THE GIRL: (In embarrassment.) Oh—yes—so it is. (Aside.) I had forgotten that I was wearing Genevieve's suit.
THE FELLOW: Well, turn about is fair play, isn't it? I'm going to search your pocket now.
THE GIRL: You mean to insinuate that I have anything in my pocket of a compromising nature? How dare you!
THE FELLOW: You won't believe ME! Why should I believe you? For all I know, you may be a far different kind of girl than I took you to be.
THE GIRL: (Very angry.) You are insulting, sir. But since I stooped so low as to search your pockets, I will give you the satisfaction of searching mine—and then that will be an end of our acquaintance. You can then go your way—and I'll go my way.
THE FELLOW: We'll see about that. Hold up your hands.
THE GIRL: (Darting furious glances at him and holding her hands over her head.) Very well, sir. Hurry up, please, and have it over with. (THE FELLOW very deliberately goes to bench, leans the parasol up against it, just as THE GIRL had done before, and imitating the business-like way in which she had gone through his pockets, he comes up to her and pushes up his coat sleeves, as if preparing for a serious piece of business.)
THE FELLOW: (Still mimicing her manner.) I don't suppose you've ever been held up before?
THE GIRL: (Icily.) No—you are the first burglar I have ever met.