ALICE, blandly, ‘Oh yes, Robert, quite.’
STEVE, gloomily, ‘You will excuse my thinking only of myself. What an ass I’ve been.’
ALICE. ‘Is it a blow, Steve?’
STEVE. ‘It’s a come down. Ass, ass, ass! But I say, Alice, I’m awfully glad it’s I who have been the ass and not you. I really am, Colonel. You see the tragedy of my life is I’m such an extraordinarily ordinary sort of fellow that, though every man I know says some lady has loved him, there never in all my unromantic life was a woman who cared a Christmas card for me. It often makes me lonely; and so when I thought such a glorious woman as you, Alice—I lost touch of earth altogether; but now I’ve fallen back on it with a whack. But I’m glad—yes, I’m glad. You two kindest people Steve Rollo has ever known.—Oh, I say good-night. I suppose you can’t overlook it, Alice.’
ALICE. ‘Oh, yes, you goose, I can. We are both fond of you—Mr. Rollo.’
COLONEL. ‘Come in, my boy, and make love to me as often as you feel lonely.’
STEVE. ‘I may still come to see you? I say, I’m awfully taken with your Amy.’
COLONEL. ‘None of that, Steve.’
ALICE. ‘We can drop in on you on the sly, Steve, to admire your orbs; but you mustn’t come here—until Amy thinks it is safe for me.’ When he has gone she adds, ‘Until I think it is safe for Amy.’
COLONEL. ‘When will that be?’