BILLY. But you did afterward and that’s what counts. You let me you in the grape-arbour. You let me—
LORETTA. [With anguish] Don’t! Don’t!
BILLY. [Relentlessly.]—kiss you when you were playing the piano. You let me kiss you that day of the picnic. And I can’t remember all the times you let me kiss you good night.
LORETTA. [Beginning to weep.] Not more than five.
BILLY. [With conviction.] Eight at least.
LORETTA. [Reproachfully, still weeping.] You told me it was all right.
BILLY. [Emphatically.] So it was all right—until you said you wouldn’t marry me after all. Then it was a scandal—only no one knows it yet. If you marry me no one ever will know it. [Looks at watch.] I’ve got to go. [Stands up.] Where’s my hat?
LORETTA. [Sobbing.] This is awful.
BILLY. [Approvingly.] You bet it’s awful. And there’s only one way out. [Looks anxiously about for hat.] What do you say?
LORETTA. [Brokenly.] I must think. I’ll write to you. [Faintly.] The train? Your hat’s in the hall.