HELEN.So you've got there at last!
You are an also-ran.
JULIET.Good heavens!
HELEN.I had
To say that I was furious, and not glad;
But what girl wouldn't feel some little stir
Of pride when all the town's in love with her?
You don't know half that's happened. This new novel
Has simply made all other writers grovel.
Bennett's gone mad with envy. J. C. Snaith
Is in decline. Galsworthy's a mere wraith.
Chesterton, having burnt his cap and bells,
Drowned himself in a butt of Malmesey. Wells
Vowed to the Press he'd never write again.
May Sinclair, Violet Hunt, and Clemence Dane
Have gone—forevermore to breathe the air
Of Iceland. Poor Hugh Walpole's in despair.
Now do you see my point? Didn't you lie
When you said that Calypso wasn't I?
JULIET. Yes.
HELEN.And the author learnt it all from you.
I think you owe me something.
JULIET.Very true....
What do you want?
HELEN.Oh, Juliet—since I've been
His model, do you think that Mr. Green
Would possibly—just some day—take me out
To supper?
JULIET.When? To-night?
HELEN.Could he?
JULIET.No doubt.